Who I Am (To Love A Lunatic 2)
by ringaroundtherollins
Summary: Roman Reigns couldn't be happier with his boyfriend guitarist Dean Ambrose. But when troubles from both Ro and Dean's pasts project themselves into their perfect present, tensions lift and questions are in need of answers about their ambiguous future. Ambreigns. Sequel to "More Than Words." Second story in my "To Love A Lunatic" series.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey, guys! You've been waiting for this one, huh? Me too. I'm so overjoyed to be able to bring it to you at long last. New characters will be present in this story. New conflicts. New tensions. New drama...yet the same love we've experienced in Roman and Dean, and the brotherly bond between Seth and Dean, and Roman and Seth. Love that's always changing, always growing, always taking us for rides on a roller coaster of feels. Here's the very first chapter. I hope it was worth the wait!**

* * *

Roman Reigns peeked down at the Superman watch that almost never left his wrist. Three and a half hours to go.

It was a big day.

Maybe not for him, maybe not for anyone else in his situation, but for Dean Ambrose. And anything that was so sacred to Dean was sacred to Roman, too, because…well, it was Dean.

The day had been marked on the whiteboard calendar that now hung in the living room next to the coat closet. Roman had invested in the implement when shopping for supplies for his classes this semester, feeling it could be a useful tool for both him and Seth Rollins, as Seth was active in his own courses now. Weeks lessened to days, now lessened to mere hours.

The day Dean got his cast off.

Or, as he'd scrawled on today's date on the whiteboard, " _the day i (dean) come together with my guitar (caroline) again_." He'd doodled tiny musical notes and smiley faces beside the message.

He hadn't been completely deprived of his instrument since receiving the cast, following a near shattering of his entire forearm. There were nights he just sat with her in his lap, in his arms—one practical, one kaput—thinking about what he'd do, what he'd play, the day he finally got utilization of his arm again.

"You're pathetic," Seth had jeered, but he and Roman knew damn well they were just as excited for him as Dean was to get the cast off.

His appointment was at four-fifteen today. Roman would take Dean to the doctor after the class he was in now, Epidemiological Basis of Diseases. He'd have to miss his final class of the day, Mental Health/Stress/Crisis—personally his favorite of the semester—but it was justifiable. Seth was working tonight and couldn't take Dean to the appointment himself.

Roman was happy to do so. He wanted to be there for Dean.

"I know you guys aren't going to be happy to hear this," Dr. Harris said, finishing off his slideshow lecture and moving towards the whiteboard, "but looking at the syllabus, you have an essay assignment that will be due in a couple of weeks."

He spoke over early groans and gripes of the students. Roman would normally roll his eyes and denounce his fellow scholars for acting like teenagers in high school rather than adults in college— _it's what we pay to do, guys, come on_ —but at the moment he was refraining from grumbling himself. He was tired. This semester was damaging him mentally. Not that he had any right to complain about it. He'd challenged himself with this schedule.

It wasn't going to be easy, but it was going to be worth it.

Like anything wonderful in life.

Like dating Dean Ambrose.

Dr. Harries wrote out five terms for disease control measures on the board. "The best part is," the instructor carried on, "you don't have to write on all of these. Pick three to compare and contrast. Any three you like. Explain how each are effective—or ineffective—for different diseases. Specifics of the assignment are on the assignment sheet printout."

Roman studied each of the words— _vaccination, treatment, isolation, quarantine_ , and _travel restrictions_ —and pondered them with half a mind. The letters were only black smudges to his eyes. _God_ , was he tired. Damn that Ambrose for being such an optimal late-night lover. He rubbed his eyes, then concentrated on the words. He scribbled "vaccination", "quarantine", and "treatment" into his notebook, then pressed it closed. Fine enough.

Class was over.

Time to leave.

Almost time for Dean to be free.

Roman packed his things away and plodded out of the classroom, down the stairs at the end of the stretching corridor, outside Parker Hall. The February afternoon was milky and slate, a blend of the white snowfall overlaying the campus and the dismal gray skies above, offering no evidence of an existing sun. The weather wasn't too miserable, but it wasn't helping his drowsiness. Heat made him angry, cold made him sleepy. An odd sensation.

Roman sailed past the Quad on his way to the parking lot, a spacious field inhabited by athletes and the studious alike on warmer days. Some still managed to find the area comfortable enough to lounge around in. Including an old, familiar, friendly face.

"Yo, Reigns."

Roman smiled at his friend and former roommate Randy Orton, bundled up for the cold in a black jacket with the hood pulled over his smooth head. He swung his hand into Roman's and pulled him into a hug.

"What's up, brother?" Roman asked.

"Not much, man. Just waiting for Nikki to get out of Ethics. How've you been, dude? Off the crutches, I see."

"Yeah, for a little bit now." Roman's injuries had limited his movement to crutches for only three weeks. Sometimes his foot still burned from the former gaping tear in his skin, but he was improving day by day.

"The fact I didn't know that is a sad sign that we don't hang out enough."

"No, we don't, and it _is_ sad. I miss you." Roman truly did. Their lifestyles might have clashed and perhaps the boys had nothing in common, but Randy was a sincere guy. He wasn't a liar or a cheat, he always knew how to make Roman laugh, and his concern for others was genuine. A curious fact about the biggest ladies-man Roman had ever met.

"Miss you too, dude." Randy rubbed his bare hands together. They must have been frozen. "You got any plans for Sunday?"

Sunday was Valentine's Day. "I'm plotting as we speak," Roman answered.

"Oh, that's cool to hear. Figured if you and Dean didn't have anything going on, you could join up with me and Nikki."

"Thanks for the invite, but I've got some special ideas in mind already."

Randy grinned. "You sly dog, Roman, look at you. I'm still really happy for you and him."

"Thanks, Randy. I'd love to stay and freeze to death out here with you, but I need to go. Dean's got a doctor's appointment."

"Oh, yeah, yeah, man, go and take care of that. Keep in touch, alright? Smooth criminal."

Roman chuckled. He wasn't sure exactly what that meant. "Sure thing. I'll see you."

It took him over half an hour to get home. The roads weren't terrible, but everyone in Colorado apparently lost all ability to operate a motorized vehicle whenever snow was present in the atmosphere. Luckily the doctor's office wasn't a long drive from the apartment. Roman parked in front of his complex and texted Dean to let him know he was there.

A few moments later, Dean Ambrose stepped through the front door of their place and pulled the door shut behind him, locking the apartment secure with his key. They saw each other every day. Slept in the same bed every night. Yet the sight of Dean still made Roman's heart thump wildly. But the bliss over Roman's face contorted to bafflement and slight irritation as he took in the sight of his love dressed in a black t-shirt, his prominent blue jeans, and boots.

And nothing else.

No coat. No gloves.

 _Typical_.

Roman pushed the car door open and stood up outside. "Go back inside and get a coat," he called.

Dean furrowed his brows. "Why? I won't need it once I'm in the car, or at the doc's place."

"Dean."

"Roman, it's not a big deal—"

"Dean."

Dean sighed. His long hair swayed over his beautiful eyes in a shake of his head. "Fine."

"You can wear one of mine."

"Stupid protective boyfriend."

Roman heard the smile in his voice.

Dean shoved into the apartment and returned again, struggling to tug one of Roman's winter jackets on over his casted arm. "Piece of shit," he said in the car, referring to the mold.

"Don't worry. It'll only be a pain in the ass for a little while longer."

"Bring it on, dude. Can't wait to be rid of this damn thing."

"Dean."

"Yeah?"

"Hi."

Dean smiled. "Hi, Ro. I missed you today."

Roman leaned over and touched his lips to Dean's briefly. "Missed you, too."

"How was class?"  
"It was class. Pop quiz in one this morning, got an essay to write in another. No big deal."

Dean stuck his tongue out. "Yuck. Essays are the worst. Always hated those when I was in school. Luckily they were never really an issue for me."

"Because…?"

"Never did 'em."

"Ah." Roman pulled out of the lot onto the main road. Soft rock music from a CD soundtracked the short drive. "Did you graduate high school?"

"Nope." Somehow it didn't surprise Roman. "Dropped out when I was seventeen. Figured it'd be better for me to try to work and support my family."

"Did that end up working out?"

"Nope. Worked at that Taco Bell for a while. Tried out a few other odd jobs. Then left." His tone had waned. "What the hell does someone like you find attractive about someone like me?"

Roman took a moment at a red light to look at Dean and arch an eyebrow. "You think I don't have a reason to find you attractive?"

"Well, you shouldn't. You're cranking out these _five_ college courses, getting good grades and actually doing your homework and studying and shit. You're fucking brawn and brains over here. Me? I got nothing."

"Not true." Roman's hand found its way to Dean's hand in his lap. "You have a zest for an adventurous life. You have this defiant, confident perspective that nobody else really has—nobody I've met, anyway. You're one hell of a musician. You're street smart. You care about people. So relax. School isn't for everyone. And lack of an education isn't a deal breaker for me, obviously."

"Or else you probably would have moved on by now, right?"

"I'm not one who likes to waste my time. And you're not a waste of time, Dean." He steered one-handedly into an open parking spot in front of the doctor's office. "You're worth it to me. Worth everything."

Dean's grin was back. So sexual and adorable all at once. "I love you, Roman."

"I love you too, Dean. Now let's go get this thing off you."

"Hell yeah!" Dean cheered outside the car. "Freedom!"

* * *

Doctor Benjamin used a special saw to remove the cast. Dean squirmed uncontrollably through most of the process. "Try to hold still, Jon," the doctor advised him.

"I'm sorry," Dean apologized. "Kinda tickles."

The cast snapped with a crack and fell off of Dean's arm like it was melting.

Dean gasped at the sight of his arm. The skin looked flaky, scaly. The hair was thick and clumped. "It's not gonna look like this forever, right?" he asked the doctor. "I mean, my arms are one of my best features."

Roman, sitting across the room, wouldn't deny that one.

"No," Doctor Benjamin replied, smiling. "The changes are normal. It's just an effect of the cast. Your arm will return to normal in no time. Now, let's do a quick examination."

He led Dean through a series of motions and movements. Dean didn't wince or flinch at any of them, impressing both Roman and the doctor. He was improving greatly, too. Recovering. Finally.

"It's healed up quite nicely," Doctor Benjamin praised. "Just follow the at-home instructions carefully, and you shouldn't have any further problems. Of course, if you do, call me up and I'll take another look."

"At-home instructions," Dean said, looking at Roman. "Getting real tired of those, huh, Ro?"

"Whatever gets you better the quickest," Roman said.

"Doc, am I cleared to play guitar?" Dean asked hopefully.

He glanced up from his clipboard and smiled again. "I wouldn't recommend starring in any heavy concerts for a little while, but you should be fine to play leisurely at home. Just try not to overdo anything."

Dean nodded. He blinked rapidly, eyes shifting to the floor, like he was trying to hide tears.

"Thank God," he whimpered.

It might have been the only time Roman ever heard him utter the words.

* * *

At home, Roman unlocked the door, and Dean darted past him.

"Honey, I'm home," Dean said, snatching up Caroline from her stand. At least he was smart and used that particular exertion with his left arm, not the right. He lowered himself to the floor, where he seemed to be the most comfortable playing, legs crossed, Caroline nestled in his lap. "Missed you so much, baby girl."

Roman hung his coat up and slipped his wet shoes into the closet.

"Roman probably thinks I'm crazy for talking to you like you're a person," Dean went on.

"Roman thinks you're crazy for a number of reasons," Roman answered, smiling.

Dean bobbed his head. "Roman might be right. And Dean also thinks Roman is a little crazy for referring to himself in the third-person."

"Yeah. _I'm_ the crazy one."

"Do you realize, Ro, that without you, without Seth, and without a guitar, I'd have nothing in the world? Nothing. Not a damn thing. I wouldn't make it. Don't see it happening."

Roman understood that. Dean lived by himself—not to say alone, by himself, but _by_ himself. His own standards, his own outlook on life and view of the universe, his own actions and the consequences of such. But others also took care of him, protection he needed, protection he couldn't do without no matter what he believed. He was probably the most codependent self-governor Roman had ever had the honor of knowing. He was a conundrum. A conundrum Roman was crazy about.

"That's why she means so much to me," Dean said, stroking the top of the guitar. "That's why this _day_ means a lot to me."

"I understand. Nobody's judging you for it, Dean."

Dean drew a pick from between the strings and strummed Caroline for the first time in over six weeks. He frowned at the displeasurable off-tune.

"Need your tuner?" Roman offered.

Dean scoffed. "You act like you know me so well, then ask a question like that. I don't need some fancy device to tune my guitar. _But_ , since it was a Christmas present you spent money on with my best interest in mind, I _suppose_ I can use it."

Roman chuckled as Dean fetched the gadget from the front pocket of his case and spent the next minute or two tuning the guitar to pristine sound. He strummed openly on Caroline again, satisfied this time with the noise she produced.

"Killer," he said.

Roman flicked on the fireplace, then lowered himself to the carpet next to Dean. "So, this is it. Moment of truth." He wrapped his arms around his knees.

"Hell yeah, dude." Dean started off with simple chords. Like _he_ really needed a warmup. "Remember how my New Year's resolution was to learn a new song every week? Well, I've missed out on six weeks. So that's six songs to learn before I'm caught up. So while you and Seth have been learning about diseases and the criminal justice system—respectively—I've been watching tutorials on Youtube for different songs to learn to perform. I'm both a visual and an auditorial learner, so to watch those guys on Youtube play and go over chord progression and whatnot, I say I've learned a lot already."

"That's great, Dean. Very impressive."

Dean beamed. "Thanks."

"Think you said your first song was gonna be 'Stairway to Heaven.'"

"Yup. I know it already."

"Show me," Roman challenged.

"I will later on. That's not what my first song to _play_ is gonna be."

"So what _is_?" Roman was actually impatient, and avid, for this.

Dean answered him in song. His hands drifted over the strings like a veteran. Roman recognized the tune immediately, and his heart was touched.

 _"I took a walk around the world to ease my troubled mind_

 _I left my body lying somewhere in the sands of time_

 _But I watched the world float to the dark side of the moon_

 _I feel there is nothing I can do, yeah."_

The song sounded wonderful on acoustic, in Dean's voice, here and now, their moment together, Dean's most perfect and long-awaited day. Roman's fingers toyed with the Superman pendant dangling from his neck as Dean sang the next lines, then stormed into the chorus with power.

" _If I go crazy then will you still call me Superman_

 _If I'm alive and well, will you be there holding my hand_

 _I'll keep you by my side with my superhuman might, kryptonite_."

Dean's rendition of the song was flawless. He performed like he hadn't missed a single day of practice, like he'd been playing this song every day for a year and _hadn't_ learned it over the span of a couple of weeks by eyesight and hearing alone.

He drew the song to a close with covering " _Whoa-oh-oh_ "s and a polished outro. His eyes had been closed for most of the act. They pulled open again and regarded a smiling Roman.

"So?"

"Dreadful. Do it all over again."

"My pleasure. At some point. I have a lot to crank out on this baby."

The doorknob rattled as a key jostled inside it. Seth pushed into the warm apartment.

"Seth!" Dean shouted. "Welcome home. Look!" He raised his right arm into the air.

Seth smiled. It was bleak. There was low speed in his walk, a bend in his posture, weight in his eyes. He kicked off his work shoes and let his coat and gloves fall to the floor.

"Guess it's kind of stupid to ask you how work went," Roman said, pity tweaking at his heart.

"So fucking tired." Seth flopped onto the couch face-first. Between classes he'd been taking up extra shifts, covering coworkers willingly if they wanted a day off, and even pulling doubles to compensate for both Roman and Dean being out of work. Roman had made it back to Java Central a couple of weeks ago, working his first open mic night without Dean in a long time, but Seth was keeping up his hard-ass work attitude until all three were able to work fully again. Rent wasn't going to pay itself. Roman was of course able to help with money from his savings account and his paychecks prior to his absence, but Seth had been the breadwinner the past month. He was a hero to Roman and Dean.

"Another double?" Dean asked.

"Mhmm." His voice was muffled. A cushion nearly suffocated him.

Roman took up the little space left on the couch beside him, patting his leg. "You don't have to keep doing this, you know. You have school to focus on. I'm getting a decent paycheck next week. Don't kill yourself over rent, okay? It's not that bad."

He'd made the same plea with Seth two or three times before now. Seth always gave him the same answer.

"I don't mind."

"It's taking a toll on you, whether or not you _mind_." Dean perched himself on the armrest of the couch, tousling Seth's hair with his hand. "We're not gonna get evicted. We made rent this month. We'll make it next month, too."

Seth said something Roman couldn't quite make out. " _Errm ferring rmmm mmm fffmmhmmm_."

"What?" Dean asked.

Seth shifted his head up. "I said I'm feeling like my father."

"Hey, that's fine by me. Your daddy's a rich-ass dude. I'd love to be rich. Just so I could blow all the money on shit for my guitar and give the rest to homeless shelters."

That, right there. That was why Roman loved Dean. One reason of a plethora.

"He's rich 'cause he got lucky. Me, I'm actually working hard to provide and make a difference."

"You _are_ ," Roman insisted. He kept rubbing Seth's leg. The muscle felt taut. Seth was obviously in pain. "But you can't graduate from college if you're dead. You can't keep working hard to make a difference as a deadman, either."

"Roman's right," Dean said. "Take a break. Chill with us. We'll be fine. Don't stress so hard about money."

"I need another job," Seth said, completely disregarding both Roman and Dean's counseling. "Or at least one that pays better than Lighthouse. Shit's not worth all I put up with."

"Start looking. But seriously. Stop killing yourself over this, Seth. It ain't healthy. It ain't right. If I was doing it, you'd tell me to knock it off and chill out. Right?" Dean looked to Roman for confirmation.

"Right," Roman said.

Seth rolled onto his side. "Feels good, Roman. Don't stop."

Roman glanced at Dean, feeling the need for approval from his boyfriend to go on massaging Seth's rigid muscles. Dean nodded. Permission granted.

"Sorry. I don't mean to be such a bitch over here. I'll feel better in the morning."

"You're fine, Seth," Roman said. "I've been feeling pretty taxed over school lately, too. But I know you'll do what I'm going to do about it: fight on."

"Thanks, Ro."

"Man, when did the two of you start living more stressful existences than me?" Dean asked.

"Because we're adults with responsibilities. It's what we do," Seth said, perhaps more aggressive than he meant to sound. "This is what adults do."

"I know." Dean sounded sad. "Sorry, Seth."

"No. I'm sorry, Dean. I'll quit griping. Congrats on getting your cast off."

"Thanks, dude. But seriously. Rest. You need it."

Seth was nodding off before Dean even advised him to do so.

"Poor guy," Roman said, voice low, watching Seth do his best to rest after his arduous day. "He works so hard."

"He's always been like this. _Always_ ," Dean said. "It's crazy, how committed he is to work. No matter what he's working at. In a way, I'm kind of jealous of it."

"He'll get his break soon. I believe it."

"We all deserve a break. We all deserve to be happy and healthy and just at _peace_."

"I think the time for that's coming. Especially with your cast off, and your playing back on."

"It's a sign, for sure."

Did Dean even believe in those?

"We've got each other," Dean said. "We're family. No matter what happens, that won't change. We can change the world, but it sure as hell won't change us."

"It could change us. Make us stronger. Better. Closer."

"That's the only kind of change I will accept within this family."

"You're right otherwise. We're family. Nothing can tear us apart."

Dean held his fist out. Roman tapped it with his own.

"Believe it, baby."

Roman did.

* * *

 _ **Review? :)**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notice: I'm changing the POV of this story a bit. Since each guy (Roman, Seth, and Dean) is going to experience his own strife in this story, I thought it would be interesting to divulge each perspective, rather than just Roman's like the first story. I hope this doesn't bother anyone. Not that I think it would...I just know it's different from the last story, and I wanted to try it out for fun, and for the overall benefit of the reader. :) That said, enjoy~**

* * *

He'd missed this.

His happy place. One of a couple he had in this life.

In a world so broken and adverse, one was lucky to have _a_ happy place, let alone multiple.

Dean Ambrose helped himself to several puffs on his electronic cigarette before returning it to his pocket and trading the item in hand for a pick. He'd left the house wearing a jacket today in spite of the clear skies and weak sun heating the atmosphere to nearly fifty. Nowadays whenever he went out deprived of a coat, he could hear Roman scolding him for it, even if Roman wasn't in the room, or at work like he was this morning. He'd heard Seth reprimand him for the very same thing over the years; still, he was more inclined to cave to Roman's supplications than Seth's.

Roman got to him in more ways than anyone else could.

And _nobody_ could get to Dean, period.

Dean ensconced himself beneath a naked tree, stripped bare of its leaves until the spring. His corner was occupied and he wasn't in the mood to fight a drifter for the hot spot. This would do for today, atop a crunchy layer of barren grass towards the center of Acacia Park. From here he was surrounded on all sides by all sorts of people: the rich and the poor, the homeless and the prosperous, elders and babies and every age in between. Several parents watched over their children, bundled up in colorful hats and mittens and down coats, as they hastened all about the playground nearby.

Dean didn't mind kids. But they weren't for him.

He concentrated on his playing above the lively Sunday morning downtown. His guitar case was open in front of him, and halfway through his first song—"Iris", the Goo Goo Dolls—he'd already received several one-dollar bills and a ten. He was kind of hoping to run into Jake while he was down here, but the older man was nowhere to be found.

Dean played alone for several minutes.

He was exhilarated about tonight. Roman had boasted of classified Valentine's Day plans for them for a couple of weeks now. Dean liked surprises, but this was just mean—surprises should have been just that, a _surprise_. Sudden, unexpected, _immediate_. He hated waiting. But he knew it would be worth it. Whatever those plans were.

A little girl screamed. Dean looked up to the sky and cast out a visible breath, peevish at the ruckus. He hated how easily distracted he was.

" _Daddy_!" the child wailed. "She hit me in the face with a snowball!"

"Alicia!" a man—presumably this 'daddy' character—chided. "Don't do that to your sister."

"She started it," Alicia objected.

"I'm ending it. Play nice."

"Yeah, play nice!" the sister yowled.

"That goes for you too, Julia."

Dean had to interrupt himself, not just because the commotion was too intrusive to his playing, but because he was coming to a realization.

That voice. It sounded all too familiar.

Especially hearing those two names, in that voice.

Dean stopped strumming on Caroline and peered towards the playground, towards the tumult. The Daddy watched his two little girls forget about their hollow argument as quickly as they'd gotten into it. They raced each other across the frozen mulch. Daddy sat down on the bench alone.

His head might have been capped with a gray beanie, but Dean knew it was shaved down smooth per military regulations. His eyes were shielded by expensive-looking sunglasses, but Dean knew they were hazel. Alicia was the older of his two daughters. Their mother was named Sara and Dean hadn't gone to their wedding.

Dean blinked. Was that really him?

He couldn't even ask himself the question. He knew it was.

Just as Dean entertained the thought of trooping over there and saying hello, his muscles became stiff and his mind shut down. Why? Why should he? What did he have to say to that guy? Nothing bad…but nothing good. Nothing. There was…nothing. There had been nothing between them for so many years.

Yet he played such a pivotal role in Dean's life that he couldn't just _ignore_ this.

Now _this_ was a surprise.

Sudden, unexpected, _immediate_.

Dean certainly hadn't been ready for it.

He cleared his throat. It hurt from the arid winter air. Maybe he was overreacting. Overthinking this. He tended to do that from time to time. Dean considered an alternate. Make it _his_ choice whether he wanted to speak to Dean or not. If he noticed Dean and wandered over, great. If not, Dean wasn't missing out on anything.

Yet…so much.

 _But how to get him to notice me_?

Dean stared down at the guitar in his lap.

 _Oh. Duh. Good thinking, Ambrose_.

Dean shifted his guitar's tune a touch. The nostalgia plucked his heart as Dean plucked the refreshed strings. He hadn't played this song in forever. And like he told Roman once before, it sounded much better on electric guitar.

" _Has he lost his mind?_

 _Can he see or is he blind?_

 _Can he walk at all_

 _Or if he moves will he fall?_ "

Dean forced his voice to louder levels than he usually sang at. Over the slight breeze, over the weekend crowd. _Guess I want this to work if I'm willing to try so hard_.

 _"Is he alive or dead?_

 _Has he thoughts within his head?_

 _We'll just pass him there_

 _Why should we even care_?"

The man peered at Dean through his sunglasses. His lips twitched.

Was it working?

He didn't let up on his stare. Dean couldn't read the expression from here, especially not through that tinted eyepiece.

But it _did_ seem to be working. Regardless of the _tone_ of the reaction, it was still a reaction.

" _He was turned to steel_

 _In the great magnetic field_

 _Where he traveled time_

 _For the future of mankind_."

The man who'd taught him to play this song, Dean's very first musical tutorial, got off the bench. Checked on his daughters, then made his way over to Dean. Dean concentrated on each word, each line, one following the next in order, until the man's long shadow darkened his spot on the grass.

" _Nobody wants him_

 _He just stares at the world_

 _Planning his vengeance_

 _That he will soon unfold_."

He removed his sunglasses. "Dean?"

Dean drew his song to an early close. "Hey, Cesaro."

Cesaro started to chuckle. "Holy crap, little brother. I didn't know you were in this state."

"Didn't know you were _back_." Dean set his guitar in her case, then pushed up to his feet. This is where most people would hug. Cesaro didn't open his arms, nor did Dean initiate the act on his own. "How long's it been?"

"Damn, dude, I'm not sure. Like, three years? Four years?"

"I meant since you got back."

"Oh. From Iraq? Two months. Got another four or so ahead of me before I have to return."

Dean stuck his hands in his jacket pocket, leaning on one leg. "You're leaving again?"

"Yep. Tempo Band E. Busy unit. Frequent fliers."

Dean looked over at the young girls, now trying to make a snowman in the field adjacent to the playground. "That seems way too soon. What about the girls? Still got Mom around?"

"Yeah. They do. Me and Sara, ah…" Cesaro rubbed the back of his neck. "We divorced over the summer."

The revelation truly stunned Dean. "No way."

"Yeah. Unfortunately. But we're on good terms. Share custody of the girls. We wanted to make this as easy as we could for them."

Dean nodded halfheartedly. "Of course. Good for you guys for being adults."

Cesaro smiled. "What about you? Still playing music, I see."

"Yeah. Won't ever let go of it."

"That's good." Cesaro's eyes lowered to a guitar Dean knew he wouldn't recognize. "Where's Annie?"

At her name, Dean fingered the bracelet around his wrist. He never took the thing off. "She got stolen. Beaten. Left to die on my doorstep."

Cesaro put a hand over his open mouth. "Oh, shit. I'm sorry to hear that, Dean."

"She lives on in some forms." Dean lifted his wrist, the sheeny bracelet reflecting sunlight off its thin surface, then returned his hand to his pocket.

"Still. I know what she meant to you."

Dean didn't want to talk about it. "You've got the girls with you today, then? part of the custody deal?"

"Yeah. It's my weekend with them. They're my dates tonight."

"That's cool. Fun Valentine's Day plans?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm taking them to that indoor mini golf place, by White Peak Mall? Then to Jack in the Box for dinner. They both wanted Chic-fil-A so much, but it's Sunday."

"Alas."

A feathery cloud bobbed in front of the sun, chilling the air by at least five degrees. Dean wondered how much longer this would last. He was glad to see his brother, sure, impressed Cesaro would _talk_ to him. It was very much like Cesaro, though. The gentleman. The selfless fellow. He who could do no wrong. _Used to hate him_.

"What about you?" Cesaro asked, clearly striving for small talk to evade this lingering quiet. "Got a hot date tonight? Anything going on?"

"Yeah. I have plans. Not really sure what they are, though. It's been kind of a surprise."

"Ah. Well, that's fun."

"Yep." Dean shifted his weight onto his other leg. His fingers rapped in his pockets. He watched a grounded leaf get swept up in a breeze and dropped off across the park.

Cesaro sighed. "I missed you, Dean."

"Did you?"

"Of course."

"You've got a good life, Cesaro." Dean drilled his line of sight into the dead ground. "Shouldn't waste any of it missing me."

"Dean. Come on. We're grown up now. Everything that happened…we shouldn't let it affect us now."

"I don't."

Cesaro arched an eyebrow. "Why don't I believe you?"

"We're brothers. We're not supposed to believe everything we tell each other. Like that time you said all babies come from orphanages."

Cesaro laughed ardently. "Oh, I remember that. Wow. I was a dick to you."

"No, you weren't," Dean spoke softly.

Cesaro popped his lips. "Well, since I'm here…and you're here now, I guess, do you wanna maybe…catch up sometime? Grab a drink, or…swing by the house and just…maybe…y'know…we could…"

"Yeah." Dean was surprised at himself. _I'm agreeing to this? I_ must _be grown up_. "Yeah, I'd like that. Sure." _It's not a lie. I'm not lying to him_.

"I'm sure the girls would love to see you, too."

Dean scoffed. "Like they remember me."

"Sure, they do. They ask about you all the time."

Now it was Dean's turn to raise one eyebrow. "Seriously?"

"Well, on occasion. They know you've been out here with the family a few times to visit me."

"Yeah, when you were in the Academy. Forever ago."

"That's not why you're back?"

"I'm back here because I fell in love with…the city." _And the most flawless man in the world, Roman Reigns_. "Leaving California and starting over here is the best thing that could have ever happened to me."

Cesaro nodded. "Good. That's really good to hear, Dean. Guess you can't stay homebound forever, right? Gotta get out in the world."

"Especially when home was that shit hole."

"I don't blame you for feeling that way."

"You can't. Really. Not at all."

Cesaro pressed his lips together. Dean refrained from rolling his eyes. He didn't need Cesaro's pity.

"Look, I've gotta get going," Dean stated. "Whatever my plans are for tonight, I'm sure I need to look spiffy for them." He squatted to the ground to secure Caroline in her case, lock and all. "But I'll pass along my number to you." _Leave the ball in his court. That seems to be working out well so far_. "Let me know when you wanna get together. Catch up."

"That would mean a lot to me, Dean." He sounded so sincere.

"Yeah. Me too." Once again, Dean found himself telling the truth.

He listed off his digits to Cesaro, who programmed them into his phone. "Okay. I'll shoot you a text or give you a call or something. We'll get some plans set."

"Sounds good."

Another lingering silence.

Finally Cesaro opened up his arms. Dean closed the gap between them, but something was still missing. Cesaro still felt miles away. Dean's arms could sense nothing but a force crushing him back. There was nothing to feel, not yet. Not if he didn't allow himself to.

Like his brain knew how to operate in this type of situation and numbed every sentiment he would have otherwise been encountering like a normal human being.

But he wasn't normal. He was Dean Ambrose.

"I'll be seeing you," Cesaro said, letting go of Dean.

"Yeah. See you around, brother."

Cesaro took one last sorrowful look over Dean. It made him feel uncomfortable as all hell.

Yet when Cesaro started to walk away, Dean called after him. "Hey, Cesaro."

Cesaro whirled back around.

"Do the girls call me by name?"

A smile touched his brother's lips. "Uncle Dean."

Warmth crept into Dean's heart at the words. He was finally starting to feel something as a result of this encounter. "Cool."

* * *

 _ **Review? :)**_


	3. Chapter 3

**Warning: this chapter is 125% fluff. (Rough estimate.) A dash of angst will follow, so prepare your hearts. ;)**

* * *

The absolute last of his money until his next paycheck was paying for this date, and it was worth spending, literally, every last penny.

Roman ran a comb through his tangled black mane. He considered wearing it up in a ponytail, but leaving the hair down might protect his neck from bitter winds. It didn't take him long after Christmas to get tired of winter. Before the holiday, it was beautiful, romantic, an invitation to stay home and watch the flakes fall and cuddle with Dean by the fire. Come January, it was inconvenient cold slush.

He reviewed his image in the mirror. His thick arms were snug in the sleeves of a dark red sweater, a pair of dark wash jeans clinging to his muscled legs, his size fifteen feet enclosed in warm boots. The Superman pendant rested securely against the fabric of his sweater between his pecs. He shook his wrist to position the matching watch facing up.

Roman smiled at his handsome reflection. He looked good. He _felt_ good.

He stepped out of his bedroom to shave his bristly chin. Dean still wasn't home. Roman understood how badly he'd wanted to play guitar downtown today. Seth Rollins was in the dining room, laptop open in front of him on the table, fingers rapidly tap-tap-tapping away on the keys.

"Whoa," Roman said. "Careful going that fast—your laptop might catch fire."

Seth chuckled. He brought his movements to a slow. "I'm trying to get this paper cranked out. Couldn't work on it all weekend since I was working."

Roman felt bad for interrupting his schoolwork. "What's it on?"

"Alchemy. What it is, how it's been attempted. It was tricky, because she said this paper could be on really any topic we wanted. I'd almost rather her just _give_ us something to write about. Took me a week alone just to think of something worth it."

"Alchemy, that's a pretty good topic, though."

"Thanks. I'm definitely using _Fullmetal Alchemist_ as an example."

Roman laughed. "You like _Fullmetal Alchemist_?"

"It's my favorite anime."

Seth never failed to surprise Roman, either. "So, this is your night, then? Working on a paper…staying home?" Seth was dressed for a cozy evening in: sweatpants, Chicago Bears hoodie and matching beanie, glasses in lieu of contacts.

"Yep." Seth's eyes returned to his computer screen.

Roman took pity. "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it. I hate this bullshit Hallmark 'holiday' anyway."

Roman wasn't sure—he liked to think he knew Seth pretty well at this point—but he had a feeling Seth would be happier having _someone_ to spend it with, regardless of his standpoint towards the holiday.

He considered something. As Seth brought his paper back into focus, Roman slinked into his room, drew his phone from his pocket and scrolled through his Contacts until reaching Randy Orton's number.

"Yo."

"Hey, Randy."

"What's going on, Roman?"

"I was wondering what your plans were with Nikki tonight."

"We're hitting up Zodiac. They have some discounts on drinks and admission price. Getting turnt tonight, bro."

Roman rolled his eyes. He hated that word, and most slang used nowadays by people his age and lower. "Is Brie doing anything?"

"Uh, not that I know of? I'd have to check. She might tag along for the hell of it. Twins, you know?"

Roman could see him grinning deviously after that word. "Yeah, actually, about that. I was wondering—if Brie did end up coming along—if my buddy Seth could join up with you?"

"Yeah?"

"He doesn't have a date, and I don't want him to feel miserable sitting at home alone all night while Dean and I are out. Doing homework and shit."

Roman figured that would help Randy take on a bit of the compassion, and he was right. "Oh, shit, man, it's Valentine's Day. _Nobody_ should be stuck at home like that. Sure, I'll talk to Nikki and her sister and find out what's up. Shouldn't be a problem. I don't mind sharing the Bellas."

Roman once more visualized a charming, cocky little grin unfurling on his face. "I'd really appreciate it, Roman."

"Sure thing. I'll get back to you in a few."

Roman ended the call. _Step one complete. Now for step two_.

"Hey, Seth," he said, returning to the dining room. "What if I told you I had plans on reserve for you, should you choose to accept them?"

Seth glanced up at him, eyebrow peaked. "What kind of plans?"

"You know my buddy Randy? He's going to Zodiac tonight with some…friends of his." He couldn't think of another word to describe Nikki and Brie Bella in relation to Randy. "And Randy said you're more than welcome to tag along."

Seth licked his lips. "You didn't tell them I was some loner, did you?"

"Oh, no. Randy said he'd love for you to come along, if you weren't doing anything." A bit of a lie, but Seth deserved to have a good time. He would have felt awful imagining Seth at the apartment all night by himself.

But it was working out so far. Roman watched as a smile tugged at the corners of Seth's lips. "Guess I can take a little break from this…long as I'm not playing fourth wheel."

"No. Of course not. Randy likes you. And the Bellas are pretty nice."

"Are they hot?"

"I'm gay, and even I think so."

"In that case." Seth laughed. "Nah, I'm kidding. I ain't that shallow."

"Nope. You're deep, deep waters over here."

The doorknob rattled with a key. Dean pushed into the apartment, inviting a brisk draft in behind him. The atmosphere was darkening as the sun fell behind the snow-capped peaks in the west. He swung his guitar case in front of him and exhaled, " _Brrrr_!"

"At least you wore a coat," Roman said. "Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah. I did it for you." Dean's tongue poked between his teeth. Was he even aware of how sexy that was? How sexy _he_ was?

"How'd it go?" Seth asked.

"It went well. Made some good money. I'm giving it all to you guys, except for the cash I used for the bus." Dean had been riding the bus to get everywhere while Roman had been unable to drive, whenever Seth couldn't give him a ride. Roman and Seth both preferred him utilizing the public transportation rather than walking everywhere, especially in the winter. "Use it for groceries or something."

"You don't have to—" Roman tried, but Dean interrupted him with a shrill, "Ah! No, no, no. I don't play for money; it's just a little bonus for doing what I love. It's not my money. It's ours."

"Great," Seth said. "We're socialists."

Dean returned Caroline to her stand, then fished several crumpled bills from his jeans' pocket and set it on the table.

"Wow," Roman said, eyeballing his income for the day. "They must really like you out there."

"Of course. I'm a fucking rockstar."

Dean looked Roman up and down, and up again. "Damn, you look good, Roman. Holy shit. I probably look like a bum compared to you."

Roman closed his arms around Dean, kissing his cold hair. "Still gorgeous. But go get dressed, and you won't feel so much like a bum."

"Unless that's the style nowadays."

"It _is_ ," Seth said, shaking his head. "Freakin' hispters."

"Hey," Dean said warningly. He lifted a finger to Seth. "We ain't all that bad."

Seth closed his laptop. "Guess I better go get ready, then."

"Oh? Got plans tonight?"

"I do, as a matter of fact. Roman played Matchmaker and got me something like a date at Zodiac."

"'Something like a date'?"

"Randy's going with some friends," Roman clarified.

"Ah. Well, enjoy it, Rollins. I need to go strip down to a tank top and workout shorts for _my_ date."

Roman knew Dean was just baiting him, but it worked every time. "You're nuts."

"And you still love me." Dean kissed his nose, then scurried into Roman's room and closed the door behind him.

Seth ambled towards his room.

"You okay?" Roman asked.

"Nervous," Seth admitted. "Haven't been out with friends in…damn, I can't even remember the last time. I'm not all that social."

"You'll be fine. This is good for you. You deserve to be happy."

Seth nodded, not making direct eye contact. "I wish I was as happy as you, Roman. Wish I was as happy as Dean."

Roman's heart cracked. "You deserve it," he said again.

Seth half-smiled. Then went off to get dressed.

Randy texted him. **Good 2 go. Tell ur boy that I'll pick him up around 6 or so.**

Dean was ready before him. He emerged from the bedroom smelling of Roman's cologne. His longish hair was combed but not styled or slathered in gel; he must have known how much Roman liked it in its natural fall. He'd kept his word in wearing a tank top, but at least he'd covered it up with his faux leather jacket. Levi jeans hugged his hips tight, exposing every curve of his lower half. His single earring glimmered in place.

He looked just like he did the night he talked to Roman for the first time.

"Who's a bum now?" Dean asked, beaming.

"You look beautiful, babe." Roman couldn't resist towing him into a firm kiss. He tasted so sweet. "Ready to go?"

"I've been ready for weeks."

Roman knocked on Seth's door. "Hey, Seth? We're out. Just letting you know—"

The door pulled open. Roman couldn't contain his gasp.

Seth looked gorgeous, too. He couldn't even deny it.

He wore a dark yellow, vintage-style Mayday Parade t-shirt under a black suit coat with a pair of form-fitting black jeans. He'd traded his glasses for contacts, revealing a full, unhindered view of his chocolate-brown eyes. A SnapBack hat, turned backwards, capped his head. Each hand was decked out with rings and bracelets.

"Wow," Dean said. "You look like such a douche!"

"Great, I'll fit in with everyone else at Zodiac."

Dean laughed. "Yeah, you know I meant that in the best way possible."

"I do."

"You look really good, Seth," Roman said.

"Thanks, Roman. I'm getting excited for this."

"We're heading out. Won't be back till late, so you don't have to wait up. Just make sure you lock up the apartment before you go to bed."

"Will do. Have fun, you two."

* * *

Roman was surprised Dean hadn't inhabited Manitou Springs once he came to Colorado. The town wasn't a long drive from Colorado Springs, and it seemed to suit Dean well, as far as his personality and lifestyle was concerned. There was no way he hadn't been here before, at least once. Tiny shops and restaurants lined the narrow streets. The town was "walled in" on three sides by colossal mountains. Street musicians were far more populous here than anywhere in the other "Springs."

Yet Dean was staring out the foggy window like this place was a new world to him. If he had a tail, Roman was certain it'd be wagging.

"I'm liking this already."

Parking was free after five. Roman chose a spot close to the restaurant he planned to take Dean for dinner, the Red Mountain Bar and Grill. But first came the Penny Arcade, which was a misleading name now that new, updated arcade games had been installed, most of which took at least two quarters to play. Roman fed a ten-dollar bill into a change machine and handed over half of the quarters to Dean.

"Go nuts," he said.

"Wait, before we do, let's set a goal."

"A goal?"

"Yeah. A prize goal. We're playing for tickets here, right?"

"Oh, yeah. Sure."

Roman led him to the prize counter. A tired employee was texting on her phone behind the counter while Roman and Dean browsed their options. The cheaper prizes were stashed in glass cabinets under fluorescent lighting. The more expensive rewards for blowing several dollars on cheap games were hanging high on the wall.

Roman watched Dean's beautiful eyes sweep over the options. They locked onto something in particular. "That. That's what I want."

He elevated a finger towards a three-foot tall stuffed monkey with a string smile. His plump face, furry belly and hands and feet were ice-blue; the rest of his body was indigo.

"How come?" Roman questioned.

"Because it's a giant monkey?" Dean made a face, like he couldn't believe Roman couldn't figure that for himself. "And you have to win it for me, alright?"

"I do?"

"Yeah. 'Cause it's romantic as shit. Y'know, you winning me a stuffed animal at the arcade."

Roman smiled helplessly at his eccentric Dean Ambrose. "You're right. I do have to."

A tag beneath the plush animal read 450. "Looks like we need to put some serious work into it," Roman observed.

Dean clapped his hands together. "Let's do it!"

They started at skee-ball. Dean's tongue poked out the side of his mouth with each roll of the ball, but he could never score higher than the second hole. Each time he powered his throw a bit more in an attempt to score higher, it would hit the top of the lane and roll right back to him. "Man, fuck this one," Dean said.

Roman, meanwhile, sank a couple of balls into the hundred-point hole. The rest could only make it as far as the top two holes in the lineup, worth forty and fifty points each.

"You're too good," Dean said. "Hope you don't get distracted."

Roman moved to throw his last two balls. Dean poked him in the side. Roman jerked, and his aim went off-course, the ball just missing the ten-point hole.

"This is for _your_ prize, remember?" Roman asked, scooping the last ball into his hand.

Dean put two hands up in surrender and stepped back.

Roman's last shot made up for his previous failure, sinking into the forty-point hole.

"Damn, my boyfriend sure knows how to score," Dean laughed.

Roman gathered up his long chain of tickets. Dean handed over what little he'd won in his game. The collection began growing in Roman's pocket. Several down, too many more to go.

The Cyclone game was alive with flashing colored lights and generic pop music in the corner. "Oh, yes," Dean said. "I'm amazing at this."

"Are you?" Roman asked.

"I sure am."

"Let's see," Roman challenged. He'd never see anyone win this game in his life. He himself had only gotten just one light away from the jackpot value.

"My pleasure." Dean fed the machine a quarter and hunched over the plastic dome. He watched the little light circle around and around and around again. His hand hovered a fraction of an inch over the green "Play" button. Dean was still as a statue. All that moved were his eyes, following the light on its circular journey. Roman thought he might have been taking forever, but he trusted Dean.

His hand slammed the button.

He'd gotten the jackpot.

The machine wailed like a siren. The tiny lights inside flashed like a strobe. Roman was stunned. Dean just stood back, smiling smugly, as the game dished out the current jackpot value: two-hundred and twenty-two tickets.

"Jesus," Roman said, giving into laughter. "How the hell did you do that?"

Dean shrugged a shoulder. "Weird-ass hidden talent. Some can sing, some can dance. I can sing, I can't really dance all that well, but I've got strategy skills down."

"Can you do it again?" Roman dared.

"I could, but that would defeat the purpose of _you_ winning me a stuffed animal."

"You could win something for me, too. It's a two-way thing we have going on here."

"I suppose I could do that. What do you want?"

Roman eyed the wall of prizes again. "How 'bout that penguin off to the side?"

"A penguin? Really?"

"A monkey? Really?" Roman countered.

"Hey, if that's what you want, it's what you want."

"It's six-fifty."

"Holy shit, Roman, what am I, made of money?"

"Nah, but you are made of talent. I'm sure you're up for the challenge. In fact, I _know_ you are, and I know you can't resist it, either."

Dean grinned. "You know me so well."

He shoved another quarter into Cyclone and assumed his position from before, unmoving like he was paralyzed, eyes never shifting once from the speedy little light. It took him a minute and a half to make a move. His hand clouted the button. Once again, the machine whirred and whizzed at his staggering accomplishment.

Roman was incredulous.

"I'm bored of it now," Dean said once his tickets were dispensed. "Moving onto something else."

"Something else" ended up being Guitar Hero. Dean admitted to a surprised Roman that while Seth was a huge fan of the game, Dean wasn't.

"Not as good as the real thing," Dean said.

"That's true. Well, at least this time I can play with you. Pretend I know what I'm doing."

"Good point. Let's jam."

Dean let Roman pick the song. He settled on "Cult of Personality." Roman stuck with a medium level setting, and Dean moved all the way up to expert mode.

Dean sang along heartily to the song like he was really performing it. Roman listened to him over the audio recording and cheers from a fake crowd. Dean's score at the end of the song was 98% perfection. Roman was delighted he'd made a near-perfect score as well, but it didn't seem as impressive as Dean's, considering Dean was the master.

"Should have known you'd whoop me at this, and wasn't even competitive," Roman laughed.

Half an hour more was spent in the arcade. Some games they played together, others were separate. Dean rocked pinball while Roman beat his own high score on skee-ball. Roman ended up converting another ten-dollar bill into the change machine to keep their gaming time going for a little while longer. When their dinner reservation drew nearer, Roman and Dean deposited their tickets into a counter machine. A receipt spit out of the device, revealing their total.

"1275," Dean said. " _Kill-er_! We beat the shit out of this joint!"

A mother walking past with her young son covered his ears with her hands and glared in Dean's direction. Dean just smiled at her.

Roman handed their receipt to the sleepy young counter attendee and said, "I'd like that blue monkey, please."

She handed it over to him, and Roman immediately turned the animal over to Dean, who hugged it tight against his body. He smiled like a child on Christmas morning.

"Smells funky, though."

The employee smiled politely. She must have been thinking strange things about him.

"Can we get the penguin, too?" Dean asked, lodging the stuffed monkey under his arm.

When she handed over the tall plush penguin, Dean tapped its beak against Roman's forehead and said, "Boop. Here you go, baby."

"You have one-hundred and seventy-five left," the employee said.

"Let's get something for Seth," Dean said. "Think he'd like that."

"Good idea. What does he like?"

"The lion."

"Wow, that was quick."

A lion plush, looking like a toy designed for infants, cost them seventy-five tickets. "It's his favorite animal," Dean said, lifting the lion into his hands.

"One hundred," the employee said like the math was difficult for them to do on their own.

"Pick something else," Dean urged.

Roman looked over the cheaper prize options. He asked for a plastic ring with a purple flower from a box of assorted cheap bands, costing him fifteen tickets.

"Will you marry me?" he asked Dean, handing the ring out to him.

Dean touched a hand to his chest and wiped an imaginary tear to his eye. "Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!" he exclaimed, then laughed. He pulled the tiny ring on over his pinky finger, the only finger the ring would fit over.

Roman smiled. _Least I know he'll say yes if I ask him for real._ "You can have the rest of the tickets. I'm good."

Dean looked at the girl and asked, "Can I get the rest in candy?"

"Before dinner?" Roman queried.

"Nah. I'll save it for later."

Eighty-five tickets gained Dean a _lot_ of candy, from small packets of Skittles to dozens of Smarties wraps, to Air Heads peanut M &Ms to Crunch bars. Roman was surprised Dean could fit all of the candy in each pocket, both on his jacket and the two on his jeans.

"Thank you for a lovely evening," Dean said to the girl. She smiled at him again. Nobody could resist Dean's antics no matter how farcical they were.

Roman and Dean dropped their prizes off at the car before heading into the restaurant. Roman objected to Dean bringing the stuffed monkey with them to dinner.

"What if he's hungry?" Dean asked.

"Then he can have some of your candy."

"Bitch better not _touch_ my candy." Dean glanced back at the car like such a thing was even possible.

The restaurant was bustling with couples and families. Dean and Roman were patient in their wait. Dean ordered a cheeseburger, and Roman treated himself to bacon-wrapped elk sirloin.

"So you had a good time playing downtown today?" Roman asked.

"Oh, hell yeah." Dean sipped his sweet tea. "I missed it so much. You ever been away from something for _so_ long, that you don't really know what you're missing out on till you get it back? Then it's like, 'Wow, how was I even managing without this?'"

"I know the feeling." Roman couldn't think of any specific examples, but he did know what it was like to not realize just how much you needed something—someone—until life blessed you with it, and you couldn't help but wonder, how _were_ you even managing without this your whole life? "What did you play?"

Dean pondered this. "'Cannonball', by Damien Rice? I love that one. 'Hotel California', 'Iris', and uh…" Something came over him that wasn't familiar to Roman. "'Iron Man.' Black Sabbath."

"You okay?"

"Yeah, just…" Dean scratched the back of his head. "Roman, I gotta tell you something."

Roman braced for the worst of news, whatever it could have been. Dean didn't seem too thrilled with whatever he was about to say. "What's up?"

"I ran into my brother today."

Roman blinked. He'd completely forgotten that Dean had a brother. "Did you?"

"Yeah. Last I heard of him, he was getting ready to tour Iraq. But he's back now, for a couple of months."

"How'd that go?" Roman knew nothing about the guy, not even his name. Dean never talked about him. He'd mentioned a miserable childhood and a brother who went to the Air Force Academy a while back, but that was it.

"Interesting. Surprised he bothered talking to be, to be honest."

"Oh? Did you guys not get along as kids, or…?"

Dean tinkered with a salt shaker. He always seemed to be more comfortable with something in his hands, something to play with. "It's complicated. We got along fine, it's just…I kind of hated him." Dean laughed. "Which is unfair, now that I think about it. I mean, it's not his fault, all that happened. And he was the only one in my family who didn't treat me like shit."

Roman pressed his lips together. He felt so sorry for Dean's dreary past, as little as he knew about it.

"Here's the thing," Dean said, returning the salt shaker to the table and folding his hands together. "Cesaro is my…half-brother. Is that the right term? When you share one parent?"

"Yeah, that's it," Roman said.

"Half-brother. He's seven years older than me. The only son of my mom and her husband. The dad I told you about, the one always in jail? Probably still is? Whereas I—" Dean didn't finish the sentence. He sniffed, then swallowed, then cleared his throat.

"Dean, you don't have to talk about this right now. It's Valentine's Day." Roman reached for his hand across the table. "Let's just enjoy our night, okay?"

"Past is coming up on me fast, Ro. Cesaro—that's my brother's name—he's back in town, and he wants to see me sometime. I guess I sorta want to see him, too. I've gotta deal with this somehow. And you're with me now, and I think you deserve to know."

"You don't have to tell me anything that's gonna upset you."

"Ro, I'm way better off now than I've ever been. I'm happy now. I don't let it get to me."

"Is it getting to you now?"

"No."

"You look ready to burst into tears."

"It's the air. Really dry up here." Dean rubbed his eyes to back up his obvious lie. Roman sighed.

The food was delivered. Dean dove into his meal immediately, tearing a huge chunk of burger off with his teeth and chewing the great lump before swallowing hard and chasing it down with a couple of ketchup-drenched fries.

"I'm not Cesaro's dad's kid."

Roman couldn't stop him. He could only carve into his sirloin and listen.

"I call him dad, because he's, like, the only 'dad' figure I've ever had in my life. And even saying _that's_ a stretch. He was never around, and when he was, he treated me like absolute shit. Because...I was the accidental product of my mother and a lover, while he was in prison."

Roman's eyes bulged. His lips parted in a stunned expression.

"I don't know who my sperm donor is." Dean shook his head. "Lover Boy bailed as soon as my mom confessed her pregnancy. She gave birth, and Hubby got to come home to a brand new baby that obviously wasn't his, sharing a room with his precious Cesaro."

Roman truly didn't know what to say. "I'm sorry" just wouldn't be enough, not at all.

"He went out of his way to prove he loved his 'real' son more than an unwanted donation to the family. Spent more time with Cesaro, called me names he wouldn't dare call his 'real' kid. I overheard him asking Ma one night, 'why didn't you just abort him'?"

Roman's heart shattered. He could feel the sharp pieces puncturing him, stabbing his insides. _How could anyone say that to their wife, even about a child that isn't 'theirs'_?

"So yeah, Cesaro was spoiled by attention—like I said, we didn't have much money, so it's not like he had way more toys than me. But Dad loved Cesaro and hated me. Absolutely hated me. Which was fair. I hated him, too, for never accepting me as part of that shitty-ass family."

Roman's throat burned with a restrained sob. "Dean…"

"Don't worry about it, Roman. I'm happy now, remember? You've seen it. That was the past. And yeah, Cesaro's back, and I'm glad to see him. It wasn't his fault his dad is such a bastard. I remember a couple of times, when we got older, he tried apologizing for it, and I'd always say, 'This isn't your issue. Never has been, never will be.'"

"At least he was contrite. Even if it didn't make a difference."

"It did. Some. He looked after me for a few years. Guess he kinda felt like he had to, since he was so much older than me. Gave me attention where I was severely lacking. It was the time we spent together that meant the most. In fact, Cesaro was the one who taught me to play guitar in the first place. We _really_ bonded through that."

"Is that right?"

"Yep. 'Iron Man' was the first one I learned, through him. He plays, too. He prefers electric. I took a liking to acoustic, as you know. Annie was actually a used good we found at a thrift store for ten bucks. We fixed her up over the summer. He paid for everything. It was costly as fuck, but he took care of it."

"Wow." No wonder the instrument had meant so much to him. Now her loss was even sadder.

Dean fondled the bracelet around his wrist, part of what remained of his precious Annie. "Apart from that, though, there was always that slight resentment. I just couldn't help it. He did nothing wrong, yet part of me felt I'd always hate him for forces outside his control. I'm a shitty person, I know."

"No. You're not."

"I hated my brother because of my dad. It wasn't Cesaro's fault, like I've told him and told myself _so_ many times over the years. It doesn't make sense."

"Sometimes things don't. Things just happen."

Dean nodded at that. "I'm proud of him for his accomplishments. He got into the Air Force Academy on a scholarship, 'cause he's a brainy little shit. Graduated, became a Civil Engineer. Got engaged to his high school sweetheart, came back after a long deployment and married her. I guess they're divorced now, but they do have two daughters. Alicia and Julia." He interrupted himself with another drink of tea.

"I think you should see him," Roman said.

"You do?"

"I think Cesaro was a glimmer of hope in a desolate existence. You feel bad for hating him when he didn't deserve it, but life's not over yet. So long as you're both around, it's never too late to prove to him _and_ to yourself that you truly don't hate him anymore."

"I don't," Dean said, shaking his head. "And I feel like shit for ever hating him in the first place."

"What's done is done. We can move forward in peace. This is your chance to make things right within yourself for whatever you were feeling as a kid. And I think you had the right to be upset, Dean, so don't kick yourself for it. The way that man treated you was bullshit. He should have loved you and cared for you as much as he did for Cesaro."

"I know."

"But life goes on. It's _gone_ on. You and Cesaro could get along great, hang out, remember the good times."

Dean smiled. "God, you're great, Roman. Anyone ever tell you how perfect you are?"

"I'm not perfect, babe, but thank you."

"I still love you."

"And I love you. So much."

Dean dragged another fry through a glob of ketchup, then popped it in his mouth. "I want you to meet him, too. You're an important part of my life now, and he should see that I've gone off and done something right for once."

"He deserves to know you made it out okay."

"For sure. I know it wasn't his favorite thing to do as a sixteen-year old, make sure his nine-year old kid brother was staying out of trouble. But I took care of myself just fine, too. He wasn't completely responsible for me."

"I'm proud of you for understanding all of this."

Dean finished off his burger. Roman made his way through the elk sirloin rather fast. He hadn't touched it much while listening to Dean. _Yet another way Dean managed to surprise me. Can't believe everything he said…his 'dad', what an asshole…he deserves love. He deserves the world_.

And Roman was set to give it to him. Every day. Forever.

Roman paid for the meals, and the two headed outside.

"This was a fantastic Valentine's Day, Roman," Dean said, slipping his hand into Roman's outside in the frigid temperatures. "Never spent it with anyone before. So thank you."

"Thank _you_."

"Do you think Seth is back from Zodiac yet?"

Roman looked at his watch. "Doubt it. Unless he had an absolutely horrible time and bailed early."

"So you're saying there's an empty apartment just…waiting for us?" Dean sang.

Roman grinned. He knew where this was going. "I'm thinking so."

Dean only delayed the speedy trip home with one more kiss. "I love you, Superman."

"I love you too, Dean Ambrose. Every day, a little bit more."

* * *

 **Tune in next chapter to see how Seth's time with Randy Orton and the Bella twins went!**

 **Review? :)**


	4. Chapter 4

_Stop looking at me like that, Roman. Please. It was hard enough trying to get over you without any setbacks._

Seth blushed as Roman's eyes gushed over his appearance. He didn't look _that_ good, did he? A little more dressed up than he usually was, sure. Accessorized, SnapBack he hadn't worn in ages, the works.

Dean mercifully broke apart Seth's discomposure. "Wow. You look like such a douche!"

For once, he was appreciative for Dean's jibes. "Great, I'll fit in with everyone else at Zodiac."

Dean chuckled. "Yeah, you know I meant that in the best way possible."

"I do," Seth said, nodding. Dean was never a dick to him on purpose.

"You look really good, Seth," Roman said.

And there he was, back again in a place he couldn't be, shouldn't be, yet always wandered back into to stay for a little while. No matter how much it hurt. No matter how forbidden it was. His moments of weakness were, more often than not, longer than just a moment. It helped when Roman wasn't in the room. Lavishing him with compliments.

"Thanks, Roman," Seth sighed. "I'm getting excited for this."

Roman dressed in his warm coat. "We're heading out. Won't be back till late, so you don't have to wait up. Just make sure you lock up the apartment before you go to bed."

"Will do," Seth promised. "Have fun, you two."

"You do the same," Dean told him.

"Randy will be by around six," Roman mentioned.

"Cool. Thanks again for playing Matchmaker, Roman."

Had he been looking forward to a night at home alone? No. Being out would do him good.

He hoped.

Seth watched Roman and Dean head out. Roman locked the door behind them. The clock on the oven indicated Seth had half an hour or so until Randy was due.

He played a couple of rounds online on _Metal Wars II_ and blasted Mayday Parade from his laptop speakers. Finding himself much too distracted from the video game, he shut the console off and headed to the bathroom. A splash of cool water on his face helped relax his mind. He pressed his hands against the counter and stared into his own eyes.

 _You're over it_ , he told himself. _You're so over him_.

It was just a crush, nothing that had escalated into a word like love or any of its counterparts. Crushes were fine and dandy until you realized how screwed up it was to have such strong feelings for the guy who was crazy about your best friend—and whom your best friend happened to be crazy about as well.

 _You're over it_.

Roman's bedroom door was open. From this angle, Seth had a view of the room in the bathroom mirror. He gaped at Roman's made bed, which he shared with Dean every single night. His desk aligned with figurines and little toys, his charming little addiction to all things nerdy. Shelves crammed with books, for entertainment and for school, because he was outwardly intelligent. A gym bag in the corner, not that he'd attended that facility in a while due to his injury and other life aspects getting in the way of his time.

He worked out. Took care of himself, physically and mentally.

Held Dean in his arms as he slept, because he cared about the people in his life so much.

Roman was perfect.

Seth altered his line of sight back onto himself. _You're an emotionally-compromised idiot, but you're gonna be fine. This is nothing. You're over it. Say it out loud. Maybe you'll actually believe it_.

"I'm over it," he said.

He wouldn't have bought it if he was someone else. He closed his eyes, shook his head, then tried again.

"I'm _over_ it."

 _Fake it till you make it_.

Seth opened his eyes. "I'm ov—"

The door rocked with five loud raps.

Randy was early. If that was him.

Seth closed his laptop on the way to the door, killing the music. He gazed through the peephole to verify the knocker's identity. Sure enough, it was Randy Orton.

He unlocked the door and pulled it open. "Hey, Randy."

"What's going on, man?" Randy asked, swinging his hand into Seth's.

"Eh. You know. Valentine's Day and shit."

"Don't look so sad about it, dog. Best night of the whole year."

Seth made a face. "You think so?"

"Yeah, bro. It's all about timing and location." He stepped into the apartment with no invitation, but considering he used to live here, Seth didn't mind. He guessed they weren't going to leave right away.

Randy sported a crisp, obviously new white t-shirt, gray jeans with intentionally frayed pockets, bracelets and rings and thick necklaces of his own, and Ray-Ban sunglasses despite the current nonexistence of the sun. He wasn't wearing a coat. One of those guys who thought he was cool enough for the cold, like Dean?

Yet it made Seth feel a bit overdressed in this suit jacket. He'd feel a bit silly, so embellished standing next to an informal Randy. Before thinking it through, he shook out of the sleek material. It wouldn't be too cold inside the club, anyway. if anything, he could just grab a less adorned jacket. He had several bad experiences with exposure to freezing temperatures…

"So are we heading out, or…?" Seth tried.

"I thought so, but I called Nikki up to tell her I was heading out, and she said she and Brie need a little more time to get ready." Seth could detect the eye roll behind the shades. "Women."

"Oh, okay. Well, you want something to eat while we wait?"

Randy grinned. "Gonna cook for me?"

Seth shrugged a shoulder. "If you're hungry."

"Sure. What do you have? Hopefully more than what Roman and I had when I lived here."

"Oh, plenty more." Seth wandered into the kitchen.

"Whatever's easiest, man. Thanks."

Seth tugged the pantry door open, then the fridge, then the freezer. He settled on some chicken nuggets. Preparations were simple: crank up the oven heat and cook the nuggets for ten minutes or so. Filling enough to get them through the next couple of hours. Zodiac had decent food options at their bar.

"Oh, sweet, dude." Randy was squatted in front of the TV, his fingers tracing over Seth's embarrassingly-large video game collection. "You've got the sequel to _Metal Wars_. I haven't gotten around to buying it yet."

"Oh, yeah. Roman got it for me for Christmas."

"Is it good?"

"It's awesome." Seth spilled the plastic bag of nuggets onto a cookie sheet and spread them out.

"Better than the first game?"

"I'd say so. A lot of people complained that the storyline could have been a little more compelling."

Randy scoffed. "Who the fuck plays _Metal Wars_ for the _story_? You play it to blow shit up. You want a game for the story? Play _Final Fantasy_."

"Tell me about it." Seth trashed the box and the plastic baggy.

"You play that one?"

"Yeah, dude, I have all of them over there. They're not in any particular order."

"I like your collection. Can I try out _Metal Wars II_?"

"Randy, you don't live here anymore. How the hell do you expect to waltz up in here, eat my food, play my games…"

"'Cause I have seniority, boy. In this house, with Roman, _everywhere_."

Seth chuckled.

The oven beeped, indicating it was preheated. Seth set the pan on the top rack, set the timer for ten minutes, then joined Randy in the living room as he summoned the Xbox to life.

"I've gotta thank you for getting me into this game, man," Randy said. "Ever since I played it that one day when I came over…I drove straight to Game Stop afterward and bought myself a copy. Got through the campaign in under two days. Leveled up all my characters and kicked some ass online."

"Ha ha, we've successfully converted you."

"Yeah, you owe me my social life back."

"Ah, I'm sure you didn't miss out on that much." _If I had a social life, you bet your ass I'd be missing out on it_.

"In those two days? Nope," Randy professed. "Nothing else existed. Just like now. You, me, and whatever twelve-year old twerps we're about to wreck."

"Online mode it is." Seth, player one, set up a match.

"Bring it on."

And he did. Seth and Randy were in a team with several other players going against a series of experienced bots in waves. Randy was raving over Seth's customized classes, particularly 'A Song of Fire and Ice' and 'Self-Destruct.'

"Wait, why are there two of these guys now?" Randy asked. His character had suddenly doubled into a clone of himself.

"See, you clone yourself, then send the other one into the battlefield. You roll up like an armadillo, and press X and Y at the same time."

Randy did so. He positioned his balled-up robot soldier in the center of the map and mashed the buttons in unison. The red lights on the character's blinked, slow at first then becoming more rapid, and suddenly the character vanished in a great ball of bright white virtual fire. Randy's controller vibrated at the "explosion", and he managed to destroy three enemy soldiers in his vicinity.

"Holy _shit_!" he exclaimed through a chortle. "That was fucking _dope_!"

"I know," Seth said, laughing at Randy's enthusiasm. "Took me three or four hours to unlock that asshole. It was worth it."

"This game is mindless. Absolutely mindless. It doesn't make sense."

"And we still love it."

"Hell yeah, we do."

When the oven timer beeped, Seth tucked his character away in a corner to save himself from getting killed while he fetched the chicken nuggets.

"I got you, bro," Randy said, standing his soldier in front of Seth's to protect him.

"Thanks, man."

Seth dumped the piping hot pan's contents onto a large glass plate and added globs of ketchup, ranch, and barbecue sauce on the side.

"Want a beer?" Seth asked, opening the fridge.

"Sure, dude, thanks."

Then he remembered something. "Are you driving later?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Just, uh…don't think you should drink if you're gonna be—"

Randy chuckled. Seth's face flushed. _I sound like a mom_.

"I'll be fine, dude. I can hold my own. One beer won't do me in."

"Okay…" Seth cracked open two beers and delivered everything to the living room.

"Thanks, server."

"You ain't even gonna tip me?"

"Oh, I'll give you the _tip_ later, baby."

Seth's muscles went rigid. Suddenly Randy started laughing. "Sorry. That's the way I talk sometimes. I'm kind of an ass."

"Yeah, Roman told me."

"Did he?"

"No." Seth grinned and reclaimed his controller.

Randy cackled. "I like you, Seth. Cool of you to be tagging along with us tonight."

Seth tried to smile at that. _Tagging along_ made him seem like a little brother whom the older sibling was responsible for babysitting when he had much more fun plans already scheduled for the evening. "I appreciate it, guy. Beats bumming around here all night."

"Eh. You would have been fine. Beer, food, and _Metal Wars_. Who needs the club?"

Seth didn't say anything. He didn't ask if Randy was serious. Somehow playing video games and drinking free beer at home seemed a lot more appealing than a night out.

When Seth was gunned down by a bot, Randy gasped. " _No_. That shit happened right in front of my face."

His character spawned across the map, and Seth smiled as Randy hunted down the adversary who'd shot him up. "Get back here, you coward piece of shit…I'll avenge ya, Rollins. Whoa, he disappeared on me."

"Ah, that's alright. I'll get him back."

"Nope. I'm hunting this mofo down, son. You don't just off a guy and bail like a little bitch. That's _unethical_."

Seth was laughing harder, louder. Randy was a riot. Why didn't the two of them hang out more?

Without taking his eyes off the screen, Randy slid a nugget through both the ranch and the barbecue sauce, then lifted the chunk to his lips. He paused to speak before consuming it. "Oh, I _love_ this 'Song of Fire and Ice' guy over here. He's like those two dudes from X-Men, um, what were their names—"

The massive glob of sauce dripped from the hunk of chicken, dribbling onto his shirt. "Ah, shit," he said, staring down at the streak of white and brown just under his collar.

"Oh, damn," Seth said. "Here, let me get you a paper towel…"

"Nah, this shit's gonna stain." Randy rolled his head back, groaning. "Man, this is my new shirt and everything…"

"That's what you get for eating barbecue sauce in a white t-shirt," Seth attempted. "It's like _asking_ for disaster."

"True enough."

"Want me to throw it in the wash? Shouldn't take long."

Randy sighed. "Probably won't be ready before we leave, but yeah, we can wash it. I'll just skim through Roman's closet for a different shirt."

 _Ugh. Why Roman's_? "Can you fit into anything of his?"

"Yeah. We're about the same size. His shirts might be a _little_ bigger on me since he's so fuckin' rugged, but better to be a little bigger on me than way too small. Don't wanna walk into Zodiac like I'm ready to Hulk out."

"Alright." Seth felt defeated.

Randy peeled off his shirt. Seth had seen his arm tattoos in the past, but a combination of two fully-tatted arms, ink extending from his shoulders to past his wrists, to his defined pectoral and abdominal muscles was enough to make Seth shiver.

 _Jesus, he's hot_.

Randy didn't seem to notice. He handed the stained shirt off to Seth, then disappeared into Roman's bedroom.

Seth drenched the dark blotch with stain remover, let it soak for a minute, then started up the washing machine and dropped the material inside. He put his hands over his eyes and sighed into his palms.

 _Well. This is one way to get over Roman_. _Just as futile as liking Roman, too. But sure. Yeah. Fuck me over again one more time, emotions. Didn't get enough of the experience last time_.

"I forgot what a nerd this poor bastard is!" Randy's voice shouted from the depths of Roman's closet.

Seth sat down in front of the TV, carefully eating another nugget.

Randy returned a minute later, dressed in a navy blue Captain America shirt. "Least he has good taste in superheroes."

"Oh, yeah, he really liked that jacket you got him for Christmas."

"Did he?"

"Yeah. He wears it a lot."

"Just not on date night with Dean, right?"

Seth shrugged a shoulder. Randy laughed. "I'm just teasing. I really miss the guy, hanging out with him. I miss living with him. You guys are pretty lucky to have him."

"We are," Seth agreed—and terribly hapless at the same time.

A few more minutes into the game, a low-quality rendition of Disturb's "Down With The Sickness" blared through Randy's phone. As he answered the call to one of Seth's favorite songs, Seth's eyes rolled towards the ceiling. _Are you kidding_?

"Hey, kitten." He tilted his head to squish the phone between his ear and his chin, so he wouldn't have to stop playing. "What? Oh, yeah, sure. Okay, we'll be right there. Yeah. Bye." Randy let the phone fall to the floor. "Girls are ready. You?"

"Yeah, I've been ready. You're the one holding me up over here, distracting me with games and taking off your shirt and shit." _Fuck, could I sound more pathetic over here_?

But Randy found the comment amusing. "Hey, man, just be glad I didn't get the sauce all over my jeans. You probably would have cried if you saw the size of my—"

Seth shut the game off and said, "Yeah, just as we thought, your shirt's not done yet." He nodded towards the washing machine, still rumbling. "I'll cut the cycle early and toss it in the dryer now so it doesn't get all moldy and gross, sitting in the washer all night. You okay with rocking the Captain tonight?"

"Yeah, sure. I still look fresh to death in this thing." He pinched the short sleeves of Roman's shirt.

"Gonna freeze your ass off out there, but yeah, fresh to death," Seth said, joking about something so serious.

"I'm much too attached to my ass to let it freeze off. I'll be fine."

"If you say so." Seth opened up the closet to replace the suit jacket with something more down. He shoved through a lot of Roman's jackets and finally found one of his own. _Nope. We're not both rocking Roman's gear tonight_.

A winter breeze chilled Seth through his jacket outside the apartment. He couldn't fathom how Randy was the slightest bit comfortable in short sleeves, but he was tired of questioning and lecturing him like a parent. Somehow it was easier with Dean.

Seth stopped in place when Randy pressed a button on a key remote, and a sleek blue Mustang parked nearby flashed its lights.

"Seriously?" Seth asked, disbelieving.

"What?" Randy inquired.

" _This_ is your car?"

"You're goddamn right, it is." Randy beamed, proud of his possession. Seth didn't blame him. He had a weakness for muscle cars, especially Mustangs. How had he never known this beautiful car belonged to Randy?

"What year is it?"

Randy pulled the driver's door open. Seth helped himself to the passenger's seat. The all-leather interior made the car crisp as the winter night on the inside, but smelling absolutely wonderful. "2013."

"Horsepower?"

"420." Randy laughed at some inward marijuana reference. The engine purred to life like a kitten. Seth was in love.

"You must have paid out the ass for this one."

"Nah, dude, here's a great story."

Seth flinched when a heavy metal song he actually _didn't_ recognize blasted through the speakers. Randy pressed a button, silencing the music. "Sorry about that."

"No worries."

Randy pulled out of the parking lot. The heater didn't take long to warm the interior. The ride was smooth and they hadn't traveled more than a few yards, going no faster than twenty miles per hour. "So my buddy and I used to race a lot. A lot, a lot, a _lot_. It got insane for a while. We'd shoot down Academy going, like, seventy some nights. Cops started getting planted in the area _because_ of us. So we just moved a little further north, on this strip of dirt that nobody ever visited. We raced for money. He was really good, but I managed to beat him sometimes. Then we bet our vehicles. He won, he got my Charger. I won, I got his Mustang."

"I take it this was his, then."

"Fuck yeah, dude. I don't know how I did it, but I beat him _while_ beating my personal record for speed. He was so fucking pissed, dude, he nearly beat the hell out of me…but a deal was a deal."

"What happened to the Charger?" Seth's heart fluttered at the thought of yet another gorgeous car under Randy's possession.

"I ended up selling it to him for a reasonable price. He was left without much other choice—he didn't have a car besides this baby. He was forced to hand over a Mustang for free, _then_ turn around and spend $2500 on a Charger."

"That's a ridiculously generous price for a freakin' _Charger_."

"Nah. Thing was old. 2004 or something. Depreciating by the ride. Beautiful car, man, sexy as all hell. But I'm happy with this one."

"Let me know if you ever wanna race for my Camaro."

"You drive a Camaro?"

Seth nodded. "Yep."

"Nice. Might have to take you up on that sometime." Randy laughed, and Seth knew he was joking.

He brought the music back to life. It filled the rest of the ride to Nikki and Brie Bella's house.

The girls thought a bit wiser than Randy. Both were dressed in extravagant coats—which revealed, when removed in the backseat of the car, tight tops and miniskirts with pantyhose underneath on both women. Randy openly, loudly kissed one of them before introducing his make out partner as Nikki, and her equally attractive, yet more _adorable_ than _sexy_ —in Seth's opinion—twin sister, Brie.

Brie flashed him a smile. "Nice to meet you, Seth."

Seth returned the smile. She was cute, that was for sure. "Ditto, Brie."

Randy switched the heavy metal to a pop station for the drive to Zodiac. Seth was left out of their conversations for the most part, but he would have rather sat back and listened to story swaps than attempt to think of any stories of his own to include in the chitchat. His mostly consisted of baffling things Dean did, traumatic experiences at the hands of the Wyatts, and dumb customers he tended to on a regular basis at work.

Oh, and his pertaining crush on Roman.

But that was nothing anyone needed to hear about.

Randy parked the car in front of the club and opened the back door for Nikki. Seth did the same for Brie.

"Thank you," she said. "Such a gentleman."

She wasn't as loud as Nikki. Or even Randy.

"You're welcome," Seth said.

Zodiac turned out to be a hot spot on Valentine's Day. Couples swayed hand-in-hand over the dance floor, while the obvious singles lingered on the side, drinks in hand, hoping to God _someone_ would ask them to dance at least once before they made off alone tonight.

"I'm gonna go order some drinks," Randy said, an arm around each girl. "What's your poison, Seth?"

"Could I get a SnakeBite to start?" Seth requested. He knew most of the drinks they served here. A SnakeBite was a straight blend of Canadian Whiskey and a dash of lime juice. Bitter, bitter shit. The bartender dubbed it a "man's drink."

"My boy." Randy patted his shoulder with force, then wandered off towards the bar. "Keep him happy, girls!" he shouted behind him.

"Want to dance, Seth?" Nikki asked, her impressive chest heaving in his face like she was tired already.

"Hell yeah." _Think like Randy. Unwind and have a good time. Don't be miserable, and don't think about Roman_.

Yet dancing to thumping, bass-loaded house music wasn't quite as pleasurable as one might have thought—certainly as _Randy_ might have thought. He had fun rocking back and forth to the beat with his severely lacking dance skills, but with Nikki grinding on him from the front and Brie shaking her hips behind, he only felt closed in and a bit claustrophobic. Nikki was hot, of course she was, that couldn't be disputed. Brie was one of the most beautiful girls he'd ever laid eyes on. This experience as a whole, this minute or so on the dance floor, just wasn't as appealing to him as it was for every other guy in this joint.

Maybe he just wasn't a dancer.

He preferred drink and conversation.

When Randy brought the drinks to an empty table, Seth took the shot glass into his hand and readied for the kick.

"This, I gotta see," Randy said, folding his arms over his chest.

Seth threw the shot of whiskey back. The alcohol scorched his throat on its way down. He kept his neck craned, face at the ceiling, until it was gone. He put a fist to his mouth, still gripping the shot glass tight, then slammed it onto the table.

"Yeah!" Randy said, slapping his hand into Seth's back. "Like a champion, bro."

"Get me another," Seth requested, grinning at the praise.

"With pleasure. It's on me, dude."

It took a little while to place the order. Nikki followed Randy over to the bar. "Want to dance again, Seth?" Brie requested.

"Sure," Seth said. Maybe some one-on-one twirling would suit him better than just a bump-and-grind.

Electronic dance music sent a tremor through the floor. Seth and Brie swayed back and forth in front of each other, Seth holding her soft hands, her eyes smiling as wide as her full red lips. God, she was cute. She emitted such an innocent vibe. If he'd seen her anywhere else outside Zodiac first, he wouldn't have ever expected a gal like her to be caught in this hole.

"How long have you known Randy?" Seth asked, having to tell into her ear over the music.

"A few years now!" She tossed some of her gossamer brown hair over her shoulder. "Nikki introduced us. What about you?"

"I met him through my roommate, Roman."

"Roman Reigns?"

Something unpleasant tweaked at Seth's insides. _Why did I have to say Roman_? "Yeah, that's the guy."

"Oh, I love Roman! He used to live with Randy, right? What happened there?"

"Long story." None he was willing to get into here and now. He dared himself to pull her in a little closer. She smelled of cinnamon and apples.

"Well, as long as things are better now."

"They are. Thanks."

Brie twirled around, oscillating her hips, her butt looking mighty fine in that miniskirt. _Right? She looks good, right, Seth_?

Seth glanced towards the bar. Randy and Nikki were dancing now. And by "dancing", Seth viewed them as plunging their tongues down each others' throats while Randy cupped Nikki's ass in both hands and they bounced off-beat to the music.

For some reason it discomforted him.

"Looks like our servers got distracted," he told Brie.

"Oh, those two." Brie rolled her eyes. "You know, I love Randy a lot, but he doesn't look at me the way he looks at my sister."

"Like a piece of meat? I wouldn't be so insulted."

Brie giggled. "I guess so. Negative attention isn't much better than being ignored, is it?"

"Sometimes it's hard to think you'd rather be alone than someone who just wants to use you for sex, but yeah, trust me, being alone is always better. Spares you a heartbreak."

Brie made a face. Seth felt he'd said the wrong thing. "I doubt Randy _just_ wants to use Nikki, or me, for sex."

"Oh, no, I don't mean just him, specifically…I meant…what I meant to say was…in general?" _Dig yourself a little deeper, Rollins_. "I think every guy should treat whoever he's with"—g _uy, girl, whoever—_ "like the princess"— _or prince—_ "they are."

"You think so?"

"Of course. Relationships are so tricky these days. It's almost a dead concept. People throwing around the word love like it means something, when it doesn't really mean anything to them. People sleeping around and not calling back, never seeing 'em again. It's the way the world works now, and it's really embarrassing to be part of it. Kinda makes me miss the good old days, with real dates and going steady."

"You have a girl, Seth?"

"No. But if I did, I'd treat her right. I'd want her to know not every guy is a total dick. I'd commit myself to her, and love her every day, and show that love in ways where she'll know I'm proud that she's mine."

 _Or a guy or him or him or him or him or he'll know or he's mine_ —

Seth was getting a headache. He touched his fingers to his forehead.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. One shot of that whiskey, though, gets to me fast."

"Want to sit down?"

"I like dancing with you," Seth insisted.

"Okay."

But the song was over anyway. Brie took Seth by the hand and led him to the table. "It's really sweet, all that you just said. You're right. In this world, it's hard to imagine something like true love is still a thing. But it's an attitude like that that makes me believe it exists even to this day. And you and I are both going to find it someday."

"I believe it." Seth smiled at her. He couldn't deny an attraction to Brie, for her looks _and_ personality.

 _I'm bi. There, you feel better now that you've told yourself the truth, Rollins? Girls are hot, girls are precious, but I want a boyfriend. I want someone like Roman, or Dean, someone to take care of_ me _for once_ …

Randy and Nikki headed over, drinks in hand, a late order.

"You sure you wan' throw back another one of these, Seth?" Randy asked, stumbling into Nikki. He'd obviously helped himself to a couple of drinks on the way from the bar to here. "They're strong."

Seth answered with actions instead of words. He took the second shot as boldly as he'd taken the first, smashing the glass on the table.

"I like him!" Randy said. "He knows how to party."

Seth smiled. His confidence was rising.

He had a few more shots in the night. Randy was getting plastered. Each time he stepped back onto the dance floor, he slurred more words into Nikki's ear and staggered instead of swayed to the music. Seth and Brie kept to themselves for most of the night, but Seth kept looking over at Randy.

To make sure he was alright, of course.

Not because he found Randy devilishly attractive.

Certainly not because he was jealous of the way he was touching Nikki, kissing her, pressing his strapping body against hers…

 _Better to be alone than to be used. Isn't that what you decided, Seth_?

At least he wasn't thinking about Roman.

Seth quit drinking by the end of the hour. Randy was going to be too intoxicated to drive. Nikki had had one too many as well, Seth could tell from across the floor. Brie might have been a little better off than her sister, but Seth wouldn't lie to himself: he'd play hero tonight, drive everyone home safe, and get a chance to drive Randy's Mustang.

Somebody had to.

"You want to dance with Nikki?" Brie asked.

Seth moved his attention back to her during the slow song. Nikki and Randy were pulped against one another, holding each other up so neither of them would collapse to the floor in drunken hilarity.

"No," Seth said with absolute honesty. "Why?"

"You've been looking at her all night."

Seth felt awful. "I'm having such a good time with you. More fun than I thought I'd have here tonight." _And it's not even Nikki I'm looking at. But how the hell do I tell her that? No, I don't want to dance with Nikki, Brie, but I would like one dance with Randy. Which is never going to happen_.

"Really?" Brie's brown eyes sparkled.

"It's the truth. I'm an honest fellow."

Brie giggled. "'Fellow.' That's adorable, Seth. You're something else, you know that?"

Seth felt an arm press down on his neck, nearly driving him to the floor. It was Randy, who fastened his other arm around Brie.

"I'm _Captain America_!" he shouted at varying pitches. "Gimmie the keys, Seth. I n-need to go save Peggy from Mister Hyde."

But Nikki was the one holding his car keys. "I think he needs to go home," she said, both sounding and looking revolted by his behavior. "You ready, girl?"

"I guess so," Brie sighed, indicating she was as disappointed about calling it a night so soon as Seth was.

"I can't drive, so it's on one of you," Nikki said, burping in time to prove her point.

"I'll do it," Seth offered—absolutely blissful when Nikki handed over Randy's keys.

" _Sweeeeet Caroline_!" Randy sang outside the club. Nikki, Brie and Seth—Seth especially, since he was a little stronger than the girls and could withstand more of Randy's weight. " _Bom bom bom!_ _Good times never seemed so good_!"

"That song didn't even play tonight," Brie said, having to giggle. Her giggle was pleasant, bubbly and sweet like a sip of champagne.

"Yeah, I don't even know where it's coming from," Seth chuckled. He helped the girls position Randy in the passenger's seat. Nikki and Brie occupied the back of the vehicle while Seth slid into the driver's seat. A mischievous grin smeared over his face as he summoned the engine to life.

"You know what you're doing?" Brie asked.

"God, I hope so."

He pulled out of the parking lot, taking it easy, as badly as he wanted to get this baby on the highway and press it to fast—legal—speeds. But Nikki and Brie lived further east, and taking the highway home wasn't necessary. Brie gave him directions, and within the next fifteen minutes or so, they'd made it back. Randy had serenaded the entire car with repeated screechy verses of Neil Diamond's "Sweet Caroline."

Seth opened the backdoor for Brie and Nikki, who glided into the brisk outdoors.

"Fuck, what a night!" Nikki cheered. "Thanks for the ride, Sethie. We'll see you around, okay? Next time is too far away." She smiled at him, in a way that was much different from Brie's despite the two being twins. She leaned into him for a hug. Her breasts crushed his chest. Seth could certainly see what Randy saw in her.

Brie's hug was longer, tighter, felt warmer, felt wonderful. He held her close to him.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Seth," she said. "And thanks for the advice."

"I gave advice?" Seth asked her. He remembered talking about treating the person you were with right, but had she extracted any counsel from that? "Well, you're welcome, anyway." He was happy to help.

Her smile warmed him up. "I hope we get to see you again soon."

"You will."

"Can I text you sometime?"

"Wow, look at you, taking initiative like that." Seth was impressed—and a bit thrilled. "Beat me to it."

"What can I say? I'm wayward."

Seth chuckled. He punched his number into her phone and handed it over.

"Good night, Seth."

"Good night, Brie. Happy Valentine's Day."

Seth watched them enter the house from the warmth of the car, making sure they made it in alright. Then he pulled out of the driveway. He felt powerful behind the wheel of this thing. Sober enough to know exactly what he was doing, with a slight buzz leftover to make him even more giddy about driving the car of his dreams.

"Where do you live, Randy?" Seth asked.

"22 Acacia Avenue," Randy said after a long belch. The leather interior couldn't coat the smell, and Seth cracked the windows a tad, feeling ill.

"That's an Iron Maiden song, dude."

"No, man, I swear to God. 22 Acacia Avenue! _Meet a lady that I know, so if you're looking for a good time, and you're prepared to pay the price_ …" He capered into the lyrics of the rock song.

"I lost you, huh?"

Randy slapped his knees, keeping a beat to his own singing.

"Yep. I lost you. Looks like we're going back to my place." _Hope Roman and Dean don't mind_ …

Seth enjoyed every minute of the drive. Randy was a hoot, mingling different lyrics from songs not even in the same genre as one another. He'd shift from rapping Eminem-style to crooning Cinderella's "Don't Know What You Got (Til It's Gone)." Seth could learn from the drive that Randy had excellent taste in music, a wide range of melodic fondness.

And he helped himself to the empty highway, since now the plans had changed and Seth was bringing Randy home.

He hooted and laughed, cruising at eighty miles per hour in the most beautiful car in the world, and Randy was excited for him and cheering along without knowing exactly what he was cheering for.

"I hope you don't kill me for this tomorrow!" Seth said.

"I won't!" Randy cried. "For what?"

Randy had mollified a bit by the time Seth arrived home. Roman's car was back in its usual place. Seth helped him out of the car. Randy leaned on Seth completely for support. He was grunting and groaning, stomach most likely churning. Seth figured the fast drive hadn't helped him feel much better, but he was destined to feel sickish tonight at some point, anyway.

"I took good care of your car," Seth said, lugging Randy beside him. "Don't worry. She's safe and sound, alright?"

"Good." Randy burped again. "Fuck, my stomach hurts. My head hurts."

"Just hang on a little bit longer. I'll get you laying down flat soon…"

Roman and Dean were having sex. Of course.

Seth ignored their gasps for breath, their moans of ecstasy. He was used to it by now, knew how to tune it out. He laid Randy flat on the couch, then disappeared for a moment, returning with a trash can and a blanket. Randy's eyes were closed, his forehead wrinkled with the cringing aftermath of one hell of a night.

"You need anything?" Seth asked, touching his forehead with the back of his hand.

Randy grunted in response.

"Okay. I'll be in my room if you need me, alright? If you can even hear me."

Randy was still. He must have passed out.

Seth remembered his shirt then.

He tugged the dryer door open. The material was clean, soft, warm. Seth folded it and placed it atop the dryer.

He couldn't help but wonder what it would look like on him.

He blushed at his own lame thought. _He'd see me with it on in the morning and get really confused. Maybe freak out_.

Seth looked over at the blacked-out Randy. Admired him just once more from afar as he'd done all night/ Then flicked off the living room light and retired to his bedroom, alone.

It had been a good Valentine's Day, after all.


	5. Chapter 5

**Another Dean chapter. Enjoy~ :)**

* * *

Dean thought it a trite, cliched improbability whenever someone mentioned "waking up with a smile on their face." Without cognizant thought, how could one form the action of smiling before becoming aware of their conscious surroundings?

Yet Roman made him believe the old banality true. This morning, for example, he was already smiling as his thoughts shifted from _I'm falling asleep_ to _I'm awake now_ , jaw aching as though his face had held the euphoric expression all night long.

The room was dark and Roman was standing above him. The bed was already chilling down without him next to Dean. "I'm going to class, babe," Roman whispered.

Dean stretched his arms up like a cat and groaned, "Mmm, okay."

He felt Roman's fingers pushing through his tangled hair. "I'll see you tonight."

"Mmmmkay."

"Love you."

"I love you, Superman…"

He must have fallen asleep again, because the next time he was alert, sunlight was streaming through the window and he felt a bit more refreshed. He was holding a soft blue monkey instead of Roman.

Dean stayed in his boxers and pulled on a jacket without a shirt underneath, not bothering to zip it up. He creaked the bedroom door open and saw Seth standing over the stove, cooking his specialty: southern-style scrambled eggs. He had classes on Mondays, too, but they didn't start until after Roman's.

"Morning," Dean said.

Seth craned his neck, peeking at Dean in his peripheral vision. "Hey."

There was a third presence in the apartment.

Randy Orton was stretched across the couch, emitting no immediate signs of life. Underneath Seth's comforter.

"Have a good time last night?" Dean asked.

Seth shrugged a shoulder so casually it was like he was forcing it to look that way. "He got really hammered. Couldn't drive. Didn't know where he was staying, so I brought him back here."

"Mhmm." Dean spied some bananas on the counter and grabbed one in his hand to pry it from the bunch.

"Hey, eat an apple or something instead," Seth said, moving the bunch out of Dean's reach. "These are for Randy."

Dean blinked, baffled. "Why?"

"They have potassium. He needs the electrolytes."

"Tell him to chug a Gatorade."

"I will, when he gets up."

"When did you get bananas and Gatorade? And…apples?" Dean attached to his list, noting the tied produce bag on the counter containing five or six apples.

"This morning." His tone was matter-of-fact, and it was annoying.

"Alright." Dean helped himself to an apple. His weakness for sweets could be countered by a healthy snack once in a while. "Have fun last night?"

"Yep." Seth turned the heat down on the burner beneath the pan of clotting eggs.

"Meet anyone new?"

"Yep."

"Geez, you're boring in the mornings." Dean crunched his teeth into the apple.

"Not much to tell. I met Brie Bella and her sister—"

"Who's Brie Bella and her sister?"

"Friends of Randy's."

Dean munched on the apple again, swiping his thumb under his lip to stop juice from dribbling onto his chin. "Go on."

"We drank and danced, and Randy got smashed, so I drove him back here. Oh, and he has the most beautiful car I've ever had the pleasure of driving."

"Congratulations."

In the living room, Randy moaned loudly. "You guys are fucking loud," he groused. He coughed, one slow force from the lungs after another, then groaned again.

"We're not even that loud, though," Dean said. "Morning, and welcome to my home, by the way."

Seth abandoned the pan of eggs and ambled to Randy's side. He hadn't moved from his position except to touch his hand over his eyes. "How you feeling? Or is that a stupid question?"

"Stupid question, but hey, you just care." Randy pressed his other arm over his stomach. His face was as empty of color as his body was of fluids. "What the hell happened last night?"

"What all do you remember?"

He moved his hand behind his head, keeping his eyes closed. "I remember…singing…and…Nikki telling me we need to go, we need to leave…and that's about it."

"You know it was a hell of a night if you can't remember much about it," Dean called from the kitchen. The eggs Seth had deserted looked "done" enough to him. He used the plastic spatula to transfer them from the sizzling pan to a glass plate.

Seth knelt down beside Randy. "I know the last thing you probably wanna do right now is eat, but I recommend it. Get some nutrients in you. I made eggs and there's some bananas, and I bought Gatorade and there's coffee and, of course, water."

"Jesus, I'm in a five-star restaurant all of a sudden." Randy chuckled, then yawned. "Fuck, I don't wanna move."

"I can bring you a plate. Breakfast in bed. One of the many services my five-star restaurant provides."

"You bust your balls for those five stars, huh?"

Seth chuckled. "Sure do."

"Yeah, that'd be nice. Thanks."

Dean stared at Seth in awe. Seth passed him by, pretending to tune out the obvious gape. He fixed Randy a plate with the small breakfast servings.

"So how'd I make it back here last night?" Randy asked, voice grating.

"You were out of it, man. I couldn't get an address out of you. So I dropped the girls off at home, and brought you back here."

"How's my baby?"

"The car? She's great. Hope you don't mind me playing DD."

"'Course not, dude. If there's anyone in the world I trust with my car, it's you."

Seth pulled a bottle of dark blue Gatorade from the fridge. Dean didn't miss that small smile. "Means a lot." He passed Dean by again. Behind his back, Dean shook his head.

Randy had pushed himself up into a sitting position by the time Seth made it over with his breakfast. Was that _Roman's_ shirt he was wearing? "Thanks," he said again. He took his time eating, a tiny spoonful of eggs at a time, a sip of coffee every minute or so. Seth ate his own breakfast standing up, letting Randy have the couch to himself. Dean, feeling invisible in this scenario, finished off his apple in the kitchen and dropped the core into the trash can.

"Got anything going on today?" Seth asked. "Any plans you wouldn't mind canceling, just to rest up? Get better?"

"Class and work. Well, actually, what time is it?" He stared at the clock above the TV. "Yeah, just work now. Slept soundly through my morning class. Wish I could call in to work, but I need the money."

"I hear ya."

Randy finished off his breakfast and handed Seth the dishes. "Thanks, bro. I owe you."

"Nah," Seth said, waving a hand to dismiss his suggestion. He carried the dishes to the kitchen, once more walking by Dean without comprehending his existence. "You got me back by drunkenly letting me drive your carriage."

"Thanks for not crashing her."

"Of course. Put me to death if I ever do anything like that."

Randy folded up Seth's comforter and left it on the couch. He pulled his shoes on, and Seth unlocked the door for him. Was it just Dean, or was Seth moving as reluctantly as possible to see Randy out?

"Hell of a night, dude, absolutely right," Randy said, swinging his hand into Seth's.

"Yeah, we should do it again sometime."

"For sure. I'll catch you, dude. Later, Dean."

"Okay, bye," Dean said. _Finally, they remember I exist_.

Seth pressed the door closed behind Randy, again, with unmistakable unwillingness. Dean was still staring at him as he moved back into the living room.

"What?" Seth asked.

"Kitten."

Seth's eyes ignited to a start at the mention of their ancient inside joke. "I'm not."

"You're a _smitten kitten_."

"Am not." Seth pushed past him. Dean trailed him to the kitchen.

"Okay, you've heard of eye-humping? Roman and I do it a lot. But _you_ …" Dean jammed an accusing finger into Seth's arm as he scrubbed the pan clean in the sink. "You were eye-foreplaying, eye-fucking, _and_ eye-cuddling-afterwards."

"Shut up, Dean."

"And covering him up with your blanket? Making him breakfast? Almost letting the house burn down to dash to his side when he wakes up?"

"The house didn't almost burn down—"

"And the way you were all sad when he couldn't stay with you today—"

"I said shut up, Dean—"

"I'm just giving you shit, man, but that doesn't mean I'm not happy for you that you found someone to make you feel—"

"Someone who will never, _ever_ feel even _close_ to the same thing I started feeling." Seth let the scrub brush fall, clatter against the sink. He pressed his hands into the counter and sighed. "He's straight as a ruler. I'm clearly not. My dreams last night might back up that statement."  
"You dreamed about him?"

"All fucking night, and I hate it."

"You really think there's no chance?"

"I know you don't know him very well, and I don't know him as well as Roman, but Dean…you should have seen him last night. The way he looked at Nikki, the way he touched her, kissed her…that's no cover. He's out for someone like her. Not…someone like me."

"He has no reason not to be out for you. You're a catch."

Seth smiled pathetically. "Thanks, Dean. But I know it ain't happening. I gotta stop liking guys I have no chance with."

"Guys? Plural?"

Seth didn't respond to this. He finished off the dishes and started up a load of laundry, dropping in his massive comforter that most likely smelled of booze, vomit, sweat, and natural Randy. He tugged the dryer door open and pulled out a single wrinkled shirt.

Dean clicked the puzzle pieces together. "That his?"

Seth smirked. "He got barbecue sauce on it. I washed it for him."

"Is that why he made off with my boyfriend's shirt?"

"Oh, _dammit_. I need to get that back from him."

"You can just use it as an excuse to see him again."

"Shut up, Ambrose."

"Kitten!" Dean laughed.

"I need to get to class. Try not to get yourself into too much trouble, alright?"

"Yes, Mom."

Seth left Randy's shirt on top of the dryer. When he set off for his first of two classes for the day, Dean snatched the shirt up and laid it out flat over Seth's Chicago Bears blanket. The thin material was only a throw, probably not warm enough on its own to hold him comfortably all night. He might have suffered just a bit by lending Randy his comforter.

How sweet.

Dean heated the apartment up by switching the fireplace on. He didn't bother putting on a shirt or pants. Instead he went straight to his home-alone ritual: Seth's laptop open on the floor in front of him—Roman always brought his to school, or else Dean would be using his—and Caroline in his lap. He pulled open a video on Youtube he'd saved to a playlist, the latest of the songs he was learning. He got a much better learning experience by watching these videos and listening to the songs as opposed to simply reading tabs. He also didn't watch tutorials too often—just straight song covers—since the tutorial instructors often taught too slowly for Dean's learning style.

Today, however, slow was key.

He was practicing "Pride and Joy" by Stevie Ray Vaughn, on acoustic, of course, which wasn't any easier than on an electric guitar. The verses were decent. The chorus wasn't problematic. It was the intro that was really tripping him up. A song was only as strong as its introduction, so Dean had to nail this before progressing.

He stared motionless at the video, watching the play through, then restarted the cover and tried playing along. Whenever he messed up a single note, he'd hit the Replay button and do it all over again. Playing guitar wasn't as easy as Dean made it look when he was performing for Roman or a street crowd, or the folks at open mic night on Thursdays.

It was three days until his comeback night and he was aching to play.

This wouldn't be the song he came home to this week, though. Dean wouldn't complete this song before Thursday, he knew it. But he had a special plan for what his comeback song _would_ be. Roman would love it.

That's what counted above all.

Dean laid down flat on the carpet, continuing to strum away on Caroline long after the video ended. Too much practice felt like a chore, and that wasn't the way music was supposed to be at all. He looked up past the ceiling, past the scattered clouds of the sky, even past the earth's atmosphere, wondering what the hell was up there and if he'd ever get to find out.

His phone beeped. Dean sat up, placed the pick in his mouth, and swiped his phone to read a text from an unfamiliar number.

Familiar words, though. Familiar message.

 **Hey, little brother. Cesar here.**

Fuck, when was the last time he called himself by _that_ dumb nickname? Dean had crafted it as a child, to quote his miserable younger self, "like the salad or the Julius guy."

He continued reading the message.

 **Girls are at school. I'm picking them up and dropping them off at their mom's. I've got some time today if you wanna meet up for lunch or something. Lemme know. I'd love to see you.**

Dean stared down at the text. He was playing "sad" chords without really realizing it: E-minor, D-minor, A-minor—all the minors.

Was he ready?

 _Could_ he do this?

Could he sit down with his past, look it straight in the face, and cope?

He wasn't used to facing his problems headstrong.

He was used to running the fuck away.

Nothing he was proud to admit, but he'd be a liar to say anything in contrast.

Cesaro…was he ready…

Dean closed his eyes and went back to last night. Before the amazing sex. At dinner. " _I think Cesaro was a glimmer of hope in a desolate existence. You feel bad for hating him when he didn't deserve it, but life's not over yet. So long as you're both around, it's never too late to prove to him and to yourself that you truly don't anymore._ "

And Cesaro wouldn't be around forever.

Hell, he wouldn't be around for much _longer_. He had to go back overseas and Dean would lose yet another chance…

Maybe doing it for Roman would make a difference.

He never did much for anyone. Selfish, self-loathing independent. The way he was raised. His "dad" saw to that one.

 _Do it for Roman. And yourself, too_.

Dean slipped the guitar pick between his teeth again and tapped out a response.

 **lunch sounds good. were u wanna meet?**

His brother's response arrived before Dean could lose himself in playing again.

 **Drifter's Hamburgers on Mark Dabling? 1:30?**

 **ok.**

* * *

Dean made sure to arrive at least five minutes late, so he wouldn't have a moment alone in the restaurant to consider calling off the meet-up. The sluggish bus system assisted in his intent. He pushed through the glass doors of the local burger establishment and looked around.

Cesaro was at a booth in the corner, dressed in his ABU. He faced the door, so he couldn't miss Dean's entrance. He waved Dean over, a respectful smile breaking out over his face.

Dean had trouble putting a foot in front of the other, actually proceeding towards the table at first. _Don't be an asshole_ , he told himself before all but throwing himself in Cesaro's direction. Before he made it, Cesaro stood up and opened his arms. It confused Dean, but he received the brotherly hug regardless, the pat on the back.

"Hey, Dean."

"Hey, Cesaro."

Dean slid into the booth. "Nice getup. Forgot how handsome you look in that shit."

Cesaro laughed. "Thanks, little brother."

Another nickname that wouldn't shake. Not that it rubbed Dean the wrong way or anything. It was just strange remembering for the first time in many years that he was indeed someone's little brother. By blood. Or half-blood.

"I went ahead and ordered for you," Cesaro said. "I hope you don't mind."

Dean shrugged. "I'm not picky. Thanks for paying. What'd you get?"

"Just two cheeseburgers. Wasn't sure what you wanted to drink, so I got a cup and left it empty."

"They have shakes here, right?" Dean stared over at the red and white menu.

"They do. Want one?"

"I can get it," Dean insisted, reaching for his wallet before realizing with a grimace it was empty. All of his money had gone to Roman for the rent, groceries, other necessities.

Cesaro seemed to get this. "I'll get you a shake after we eat. Chocolate, right?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

"I remember your sweet tooth."

A memory formed in Dean's mind at that comment. "You, uh…you remember that one Halloween where Mom bought us that bag of candy to hand out to the trick-or-treaters?"

"Oh yeah, and you ate all the Hershey's bars?"

"And we finished off those Kit Kats in a _snap_."

Cesaro laughed. "I remember how we left all the shitty candy for the trick-or-treaters."

"Oh, God, that's right." Dean joined him in the laugh. "I forgot about that. That one kid we handed, like, the Bit-O-Honey to, looking up at us like, ' _Why would you do this to me_?'"

Cesaro threw his head back in genuine amusement. "God, we probably ruined a lot of kids' nights that night. Surprised our house didn't get egged by morning."

"I'd rather it get egged than shot at or anything."

"Yeah. Glad things never got _that_ bad."

The aura at the table sobered. "Yeah. We were lucky in that way."

"Cesaro?" called a restaurant employee.

"I got it," Dean said, lifting a hand as his brother moved to stand up. His mouth was watering over the tray. The burgers were enormous, and the salted fries were obviously fresh from the fryer. He grabbed a dozen napkins and delivered the food to the table.

It took a couple of minutes for conversation to pick back up. Dean was enjoying his burger a lot. He felt a bit self-conscious in front of his neat eater of a brother. Cesaro dabbed his mouth with the napkin after every bite. Dean wasn't _that_ paranoid yet, but he watched how he ate and tried not to lick sauce off his fingers or wolf anything down too quickly.

"How are the girls?" Dean asked.

"Oh, they're good," Cesaro said. "I miss seeing them so often, but I try to make the most out of the time I get with them."

"Yeah, that blows about Sara, dude. I'm sorry."

"Eh. It happens. I miss Alicia and Julia more than I miss her."

"Y'all were, like…a one true pairing, though. What happened? If I may ask."

"She cheated on me while I was overseas."

" _Wow_." Dean's eyes rolled to the back of his head. "Class act, that gal. Where does _that_ sound familiar?"

Cesaro's smile was grim. Dean decided to lighten the mood again.

"I can't wait to see them. I wanna do something fun with them. A fun day out with Daddy and Uncle Dean." It made him smile on the inside, that his nieces addressed him as such. He thought they might have considered him a stranger, a lost relative.

"I get them back on Saturday. So I'll definitely let you know."

Dean tapped his fingers on the table. "How's Mom?" he forced out.

"Good."

"She, uh…" Dean's neck felt arthritic. Rubbing it didn't help. He didn't know where to carry this question. "Yeah, she doing okay?"

"I think so, yeah. I just talked to her last night."

"Did you?"

"I call her almost every night. Try to, anyway. Some nights I get busy or just forget."

"Did you, uh…mention that…we're…kinda in contact again?"

Cesaro nodded. "I did." He nibbled his burger. Another dab of the napkin. Such a gentleman. "Actually, some interesting news you might want to know, or maybe not, but…"

"Well, now I'm intrigued. You have to tell me."

He expected Cesaro to smile, but it didn't happen. "She had another kid."

Dean nearly choked on his fry at the revelation. "You're shitting me."

"Nope."

"Wh-w—" Lost for words, yet again. He gave his mind time to process a question by finishing off the fry that nearly killed him, then following it with another. "Who's the father?"

"Dad. My dad."

The information surprised Dean, not just because he assumed his dad was still in prison to this day, but also because _he_ wasn't the child of Cesaro's dad, so it was unusual to think the man was now the father of another kid by his mom. "How the f—"

"He got out on parole two years ago. Been on pretty good behavior sense. Hasn't made his way back to the slammer."

Dean shook his head. His combed hair fell over his eyes in waves, which he pushed behind his ears. "Must have missed his woman a whole lot to knock her up again at…how old is Mom now, anyway? I feel like an asshole for not knowing, but…"

"Forty-six."

Dean's mouth gaped. " _Jesus_. And she had a kid…when…?"

"Last year."

"Oh my fucking God. I cannot believe that shit. She must be saggy and shit by now."

"She does her best to stay healthy. Take care of her body."

Dean scoffed. "Since when?"

"Late thirties, I think. Pretty healthy midlife crisis."

"Yeah. Poor kid, though. I pity him, her, whatever."

"Him."

Dean folded his hands together in front of his mouth. "So you're saying we have another little half-brother out there?"

"Yep. His name's Sami."

"Good luck, Sami," Dean muttered. He returned his attention to the rest of his food. He'd heard enough of that.

"How are _you_ , Dean?"

"I'm fine. Getting better."

"Working anywhere?"

"Yep. At this little comic book store downtown. Escape Velocity. Roman helped me get it." He realized then, with absolute remorse, he hadn't introduced his brother to the concept of the greatest thing about his new life.

"Roman?" Cesaro mused.

Dean sucked in a breath. He wondered how Cesaro would feel about this… "Roman's a guy I'm seeing. A guy I'm crazy about. Cesaro, I'm in love."

"Oh. Oh? Oh. Huh. That's…"

"Unexpected?"

Cesaro winched. "Well…"

"Or did you always suspect that maybe..."

"You were always an oddity, Dean. I never knew exactly _what_ to expect of you."

"Can't blame you for that one." Dean mimicked his brother, using a napkin to wipe away ketchup on his lips rather than lick it away. Cesaro made him want to act genteel.

"But that's cool, though. If he makes you happy."

"Happier than I've ever been. Ever."

"Good."

Dean laughed at another memory, this one a bit less amusing. ""All those times Dad called me a bitch and a faggot…guess he was right."

"You're not a bitch," Cesaro stated. "And you're not a faggot. I hate that word. It's so destructive and crass."

"Yeah. I don't let him get to me anymore. Never again."

"Good, Dean. I'm proud of you. I can tell how much happier you are, and that makes _me_ happy."

Cesaro kept his word and bought Dean a chocolate milkshake when the food was gone. Dean cleared off the table while Cesaro paid. The milkshake was done in seconds, and Cesaro handed the cup off to his brother.

"Thanks," Dean said, delving into the delicious cold drink.

"I hate to cut this off now, Dean, but I need to go. The girls will be out of school soon."

"Sure. Alright." Dean was about ready to call it a day, too. His first true interaction with Cesaro had been a success with only a snag or two. Apologies hadn't been made, but this wasn't the time. Today was the time to just enjoy one another's company. It had been pulled off.

They wandered outside. Dean's insides protested the cold milkshake in the middle of February, but he gulped it down anyway.

"Thanks for meeting with me today, Dean. It was nice."

"Yeah," Dean had to agree. "Real nice, Cesaro."

"I'll let you know about the weekend." Cesaro opened his arms again. Every hug felt a little tighter, lasted a little longer. Dean could feel him this time. Feel something. Feel how much he'd missed this "glimmer of hope in a desolate existence." Roman had been right on about that one.

"I want you to meet Roman, too. I know he'd be happy to meet you."

"Oh yeah? Talk me up, did you?"

"Just a little." _And talked you down a bit, too. My bad_.

"I'm looking forward to it."

Dean saw the bus pulling to the corner across the street. Near perfect timing.

"Have a good day, Cesaro. Tell the girls hi for me."

"I will. Bye, Dean."

"Until next time." He preferred that term over "goodbye" or any variation. It meant he had something to look forward to.

That was a nice rarity of his existence.

* * *

 ** _Review? :)_**


	6. Chapter 6

**The song Dean plays in this chapter is "Who I Am" by Wade Bowen. I do not own it, but I did use the name of it as the title for this story. :3 Enjoy~**

* * *

Roman was certain nothing could ruin this day for him, spoil his good mood, but his attitude slightly faltered when he got to work Thursday afternoon and took a look at next week's schedule.

Fourteen hours. Two four-hour shifts in the evening, and his standard six hours on Saturday. Roman was used to cranking out thirty-hour weeks, and now they'd been cut by over half. He couldn't afford much with just fourteen hours.

"Hey, Curtis," Roman said, turning around to face his boss at the desk. "How come I only have fourteen hours next week?"

Curtis glanced at him. Roman read the look as apologetic. "Well, I've been having to cut hours to make enough for those two employees I hired while you were taking leave."

"Well, I'm back now," Roman stated. "Can't you just…let them go?"

Curtis clicked his tongue. "Sorry, Roman. They're doing a good job here. I don't have grounds to fire them."

Roman could have argued. Protested. Flung his apron to the ground and threw a hissy fit about how badly he needed hours, needed money—but Roman was well above that behavior. Instead he tied the apron tight around his waist and left the office without a word, just a nod and a lump in his throat.

 _This is bad_ , he thought, stomach agitated, heart feeling like lead. Rent was due on the twentieth—two days from now. Seth, once again, was going to have to take care of it in full. Roman was broke. Poor as dirt. His savings account had bled out for his Valentine's Day date with Dean. He wasn't about to reveal that information to either Seth or Dean. Guilt wasn't going to get the bills paid.

He had to think of something.

"Roman! What up? Ready for tonight?"

He smiled politely at Dolph Ziggler, who seemed charged with an extra shot of caffeine in his bloodstream.

"Yeah, you bet. How was your holiday?"

"Amazing. Vickie's quite the woman, tell you what." He tapped Roman's shoulder with his fist, sniggering. Roman just kept up the polite smile. _Dolph is turning into Randy over here. What a player_.

"Hey, Dolph." One of the two new employees Curtis had hired in Roman's absence sauntered towards them. The bronze tag on his apron indicated his name was Tyler. "That milk dispenser isn't working again."

Dolph closed his eyes. "Did you put it back together again?"

"Yeah?" An unspoken _duh_ tacked itself to the word.

"Did you put it back together again _correctly_?"

"I'm not an idiot, Dolph. You _just_ showed me how to do that."

Dolph pinched the skin between his eyebrows. "Alright. Be right over. You wanna ring this lady up, in the meantime?"

Tyler, whose golden mane was so long he was also required to wear it up in a ponytail, swaggered behind the counter and took the order of the woman who'd been waiting.

"Freakin' newbies, man. Piss me off sometimes," Dolph mumbled. Roman followed him to the milk dispenser, gathering up stray straw wrappers and dropping them into the trash can.

"Not taking kindly to Tyler so far?" Roman teased.

"No. He's such a douche. Earlier I caught him in the back taking selfies in his apron like, 'Yeah, look at me, I'm workin' in a coffeehouse!' Selfies! With one of those stupid sticks! On the clock, might I add. And making this face." Dolph thrust his lips way out, forming kissing lips. A duck face, as Roman's generation called it.

"Curtis said he was doing pretty well."

"Curtis was desperate to get someone hired after you got hurt. Speaking of that, you doing okay? Dean getting better?"

"Yes and yes. Thanks for asking."

Dolph tugged on the milk dispenser, lodged in place, until finally it seemed to break apart into two pieces. "He put the valve on backwards," Dolph said through a groan that could have twisted into sobs if he let it carry on. "Christ."

"He'll improve. Especially if you're training him."

"Yeah. We'll see."

Business picked up long before open mic night kicked off. Roman and Dolph fashioned the drinks while Tyler and the other new employee, Summer, worked the cash registers, the "easier" of the two primary positions. They chose to go on their breaks at the same time, though business hadn't slowed, and Roman stepped up to the register and called, "I can help whoever's next."

A muscular man with a smooth shaved head and huge, beautiful brown eyes stepped up to the counter and greeted Roman warmly, "How are you?"

"I'm good," Roman said, nodding, swallowing. His mind seared with guilt to find the man so attractive. "How are you tonight?"

But he didn't answer. Instead his eyes lowered to Roman's chest, then hoisted back to Roman's eyes, this time kindled in some sort of unveiling. "Oh, _you're_ Roman."

 _Damn this name tag, giving me away so much_. "I am," Roman said. It was silly to lie about it.

"Unless there happens to be another Roman working in this place, I think you're the guy my brother was rhapsodizing the other day."

"Your brother?" Roman blinked, then gasped. Suddenly he'd taken some of the not-stranger's unveiling as his own. "Dean?"

He grinned, confirming the guess. "Not gonna lie, I was a little surprised when he said he was in love with another man. You must really be special, Roman." He held a hand out. "Cesaro."

"Nice to meet you. I've heard about you."

"Uh oh. That can't be good." Cesaro laughed.

Roman's fingers drummed against the register. He wanted to continue conversing with Cesaro—he had questions, so many questions—but the line was only lengthening behind him. "Don't worry. Nothing too humiliating. What can I get for you, Cesaro?"

His beautiful eyes skimmed over the menu. Roman was baffled he and Dean were brothers. They looked nothing alike. Of course there was sorrowful reasoning behind it, but…still. Nothing alike. "What would Dean get, if he were here?"

Roman didn't miss a beat, like he'd seen the question coming from a mile away. "Salted caramel mocha. Biggest size, extra caramel sauce."

"That's his favorite, eh?" Cesaro chuckled. "No surprise there. I'll try it. Where is he, anyway? He texted me that he was playing here tonight, and I should swing by before seven."

"Work. It's his second day back at his job since he got his cast off." Roman punched the order into the cash register and added a military discount of ten percent, remembering Cesaro was in the Air Force.

"Cast? He hurt himself?"

Oh. Cesaro didn't know that much yet. "Yeah. Nothing too bad…but he'll be here later," Roman said, shelving the grave discussion for a calmer atmosphere. "His managers know about his priorities on these nights."

"Good deal. Well, I'll have myself a seat and see you both in a bit."

"Yeah, for sure. See you in a while. And good to meet you, Cesaro."

"Good to meet you too, Roman."

Cesaro paid for his drink, then moved out of line. Roman veered his focus back on work.

Dean had gone home to change clothes and fetch his guitar, obviously, before arriving at Java Central. Roman watched him enter the overcrowded coffeehouse, eyes swelling at the long line. He frowned, realizing he'd have to actually _wait_ for his coffee for once.

Roman tried to get through the orders as quickly as he could. Tyler and Summer were back, Tyler taking over Dolph's register and Dolph and Summer working together to prepare each drink. Cesaro caught sight of Dean and talked with him for a while in line. Dean looked over to Roman several times, smiling. They must have been talking about him. Roman blushed.

Curtis welcomed the horde to Java Central's open mic night. Dean was almost at the register. He groaned as someone beat him to performing first. Roman remembered when Dean would wait until the very end of the night to make his way onto the makeshift stage. Nowadays he would bulldoze his way there, running over anyone who tried to go before him. Tonight he hadn't a choice.

"What the hell is with this crowd?" Dean asked, seeming disgusted by all of humanity. Cesaro had gone back to save their table. It would have been impossible to get seating otherwise.

"First sunny, warmish day in a while?" Roman guessed. "People getting out to enjoy the clear?"

Dean shook his head. "Pansies. Can't handle a little snow. This is Colorado, for fuck's sake."

The first performer of the night had a pitchy voice that blared over instrumental music playing from his phone's tiny speakers. _Open does mean open_ , Roman thought _. Open to the pros and the amateurs_.

Roman rang up a large salted caramel mocha. He gave Dean the military discount, too. "So I met Cesaro."  
"I heard. He thinks you're pretty cool."

"Eh. We didn't talk much. He can't know that yet."

"I knew you were cool before I even talked to you. The quickness to correct judgement runs in the family."

Roman smiled. He felt a hand on his shoulder then. "Go make your boy his mocha all special." It was Dolph. "I've got the next guy."

"Thanks, man."

Dean grinned. "I'll be back for it." He laid a five-dollar bill flat on the counter. "Remind me that I owe Seth. He lent me this so I could get my mocha tonight."

Roman nodded. They owed Seth so much more than that. He was busting his ass at his own job to pay for rent while also trying to concentrate on a college semester.

 _We need more money_ , Roman thought. _Badly_.

He made Dean's mocha while Dolph took over his register. Dean lingered off to the side, frowning through Pitchy's entire performance. He clapped politely, almost sarcastically, at the end. Roman slid his coffee across the counter and said, "Go get 'em."

"Hell yeah. Been so excited about this." Dean threw his head back and chugged a bit of his mocha like it was a shot of alcohol. "Missed this, too," he gasped at the end of a long drink.

He had to wait through one more performance, a rather impressive rendition of Weezer's "Say It Ain't So" by a tiny girl with powerful lungs. Dean was not about to get cut off by anyone else. He grabbed his guitar case and pranced onto the stage as soon as she was off it. Cesaro was smiling already. Roman wondered if Dean was nervous about playing in front of him. After all, Cesaro had been his teacher once. Now Dean was his own sort of master musician.

"I'm Dean," he introduced himself, "and this is Caroline. And this one goes out to Roman." He flashed Roman a grin that made his heart drip sap.

Dean took a moment to tune his guitar, then plucked at strings in a song prelude Roman didn't recognize. A new song to captivate him? Roman was ready.

Dean's eyes closed, his angelic voice resonating in the microphone.

" _I love to watch the sunset, as it fades behind the trees_

 _I love to talk with God, and get down upon my knees_

 _I love the times I spend with my family and friends_

 _I love to dream about all the places I've never been_ …"

Dolph, Summer, and Tyler would have to run the business by themselves for a little while. Roman wasn't missing this for anyone or anything. He leaned against the counter, chin cupped in his palms, elbows on the counter. _Why I fell in love with him to start_.

" _And I love to watch you laugh and smile_

 _I love to watch you dream_

 _I love it when you take my hand_

 _Let me know you believe in me_

 _I love it that you're my Ro_

 _I love that I'm your man_

 _Now that you're in my life, baby, I know_

 _Exactly who I am_."

Roman was especially touched by the obviously altered lyrics, whatever word had been in the original place of his endearing nickname. If Dean managed to fit "Superman" somewhere in this piece, he'd be a pool of goo behind this counter.

Dean's eyes opened, regarding nothing but Roman in that entire room. His fingers played through the second verse, powered on their own. He didn't even need to think about what he played; it came to him so naturally.

" _I know I love the ladies_

 _I love to go out at night_

 _I love it how we make up_

 _Each and every time that we fight_

 _I love you oh so very much_

 _I love you more than words can say_

 _And I don't know how or why_

 _But I love you more everyday_

 _And I love to watch you laugh and smile_

 _I love to watch you dream_

 _I love it when you take my hand_

 _Let me know you believe in me_

 _I love it that you're my Ro_

 _I love that you're Superman_

 _Now that you're in my life, baby, I know_

 _Exactly who I am_."

Roman was done for. Practically in tears. "Superman" had made it in, and even the term "more than words" from the couple's favorite song. God, he'd missed Dean's voice, listening to him play in this scenario like he'd done countless times before Dean talked to him. Before their adventure began. Their life together started here.

And where would it end?

 _Together_ , Roman hoped, ached, wished, prayed. _Together_.

Dean pushed through a soft yet compelling chorus once more, then he faded the song to its end. The coffeehouse hailed him, cheering and clapping. Cesaro lifted to his feet, clapping almost violently for his brother.

Roman had never been more proud of him.

Dean didn't bow, nor indicate in the slightest he could even perceive the applause. Caroline in hand, he hopped off the stage, sprinted towards Roman, and kissed him hard over the counter. Roman could feel him smiling.

The coffeehouse erupted in fresh applause for the brave kiss. Several formed a hum of " _Awwww_."

Roman was breathless as Dean pulled out of the kiss. He stared at Roman, cocky, confident, proud to be his man.

"Oh, that's Roman, by the way," he notified the crowd. "I'm not a slut."

This evoked a few giggles.

Roman watched as Cesaro took Dean in a brotherly hug after he'd tucked Caroline away in her case. "That was beautiful, little brother," his lips said. Dean nodded, eyes on the floor like all of a sudden, he was _bashful_.

At least they were talking. Getting along.

Roman was happy about it, so happy that in the moment he'd forgotten about his unpleasant financial situation.

In the moment, he could just enjoy life for what it was.


	7. Chapter 7

The only thing keeping Seth awake in class was an active discussion about the _Weeks v. United States_ case of 1914, which introduced a new legal doctrine into the criminal justice system, The Exclusionary Rule. Seth liked hearing his professor's facts versus his classmates' opinions. Participation points were worth fifteen percent of his final grade, so even if these discourses bored him to tears, he couldn't afford to nod off.

Criminal justice was fascinating. Seth was thrilled to finally have a school subject to engage in that actually captivated him. He took notes until his hand cramped up. It wasn't necessary to jot down _everything_ on the professor's slides, but he chose to do it himself. He liked it here. He liked his decision.

Even if it was costly.

Ten times less costly than Roman's university. But still expensive.

But Roman had refused to let him skip school for one more semester to focus on work and bringing in money for the injured residents of their apartment. "If you don't go back now, you might lose your fire by August. And then you'll end up never going back, and we both know that's not what you want. Go back. We can afford a couple of classes to get you going. We can do this. _You_ can do this."

Seth admired how responsible Roman was. How thoughtful. How protective.

The professor wrapped up the Thursday evening class with an announcement. "Next week I'll be dividing up the class into six groups, A through F. We'll be having debates on current legal issues. Groups A and B will debate one topic, as will C and D, and E and F. You'll be assigned your side, so there's a steady balance. Make sure to do your research. You'll also be writing a paper to discuss the legal issue, and what your personal view on the subject is."

Seth frowned. And these were two things he didn't miss about school in the slightest: group projects and papers. _But this is why I'm here, so bring it on_.

Summit Community College comprised of only one building, two stories. It wasn't a sizable establishment, but it was comfy enough to carry Seth through his semesters here without providing an overwhelming sensation. The campus was still when Seth left the classroom. Thursday nights weren't the most active time for classes, but this Introduction to Criminal Justice course on Tuesday and Thursday nights was his only option as far his work schedule went. And he didn't want to give up on the chance for _that_ class.

He wandered down the square spiral staircase. The quiet around here was eerie. Monday mornings, the place was more lively. He was surprised to see a couple of students still lounging in the atrium at this hour. One of them, he thought he recognized. He watched her from the staircase, from behind, so it wouldn't look quite as creepy as anyone could have made it.

She looked an _awful_ lot like Brie Bella, snuggled up in an oversized gray and Red Adidas hoodie, papers strewn in front of her at a long table, an open notebook on top of the heap, a stack of colored flashcards towering next to her scribbling hand.

She looked busy. Seth should have left her be.

But he was curious about her presence. Curious, and a little excited.

"Hey, Brie," he said, loud enough for her to definitely hear him, yet quiet enough where, if it happened to _not_ be her, he could simply pretend he was addressing someone else. Someone else in this area with…four or five other beings. _Smooth, Rollins_.

But it was her, for she looked up at him with those striking eyes of her and flaunted an open-mouthed smile. "Hey, Seth!" She waved a manicured hand at him, but made no effort to get up from her workspace. Seth instigated an approach instead.

"Wow, you're staying the course over here," Seth said, noting the overcrowded table.

Her smile took on a sheepish manner. "Yeah. I have this exam in the morning."

"Which class?"

"Biology." She stuck her tongue out in disgust.

"Is it stressing you out?"

"Not really. I'm just one of those people who cannot study for an exam until literally the night before, then I cram."

"Ah."

"I swear, I'm not a procrastinator by choice." She laughed at herself. There it was, that bubbly little giggle from her lungs. A taste of champagne. "My brain just kinda sucks at retaining information. I can look over the material all week long, but it's cramming the night before and then sleeping on it that gets me the best test results. I'm not the best role model for any student here."

Seth laughed. "Hey, whatever works."

"Yeah. I'm only here all by my lonesome because Nikki's got Randy at home."

"Ah." Seth pressed his lips together and nodded, not wanting to hear about it at all. "I can see the distraction." He really could see it, in his head, Nikki on top of Randy the way she'd been at Zodiac. _I must be a glutton for punishment or something_.

Brie winced. "Yeah."

"You want me to leave you alone so you can get back to it…?" Seth offered, hoping she'd say no but not wanting to intrude on her study hour.

She placed her pen atop her notebook and leaned back in her chair, looking up at him. "Well, unless you had something in mind…"

 _Be nonchalant. Be chill_. "Well, if you want to ease your mind a little bit, maybe we could go grab a drink?"

Brie tapped a fingernail against her chin, eyes going to the ceiling like she was seriously considering it. _Too_ seriously. Suddenly it looked like an act, like she was just toying with him.

Sure enough. "I'd love to."

 _Smooth, Rollins_!

And this time, he meant it.

* * *

Instead of taking Brie to a hole like Zodiac or 15C, Seth selected a classier establishment for a simple drink with a pretty woman. The Rabbit Hole, advertised as a "chic den for cocktails & late-night eats" was his decision, as Brie had left it entirely up to him.

The brick walls glowed from the subdued glare of red lamps suspended above each booth table. Seth ordered a cherry limeade martini, and Brie requested a champagne-grapefruit cosmopolitan dubbed "The Duchess."

She was grinning at him over the table once the waiter retracted, their menus in hand. "What?" he had to ask.

"Just didn't take you for a martini man."

"Oh." Seth laughed. "Cherry limeade sounded too good to pass up. Besides, martinis make me look dapper."

"Fair enough."

"Besides, I think I proved what a manly drinker I am that night at Zodiac."

"Oh, you don't have to prove anything to me. I could never handle a SnakeBite without puking, so well done."

"Are you a lightweight?" Seth asked. It wouldn't surprise him, by her size.

"Nah. I can hold my liquor. I just don't like anything too bitter-tasting. It's gotta be sweet, fruity. A girly drink. Like your martini."

"Hey!" Seth said, and she laughed again. _God. A guy could fall for her by that laugh alone_. When the order arrived, Seth sipped his martini right away and said, "Damn proud of my 'girly drink.'"

"I'm not judging." She returned her glass to the table after a drink, then folded her arms on the table. Her arms and hands were swallowed whole by the sleeves of her Adidas hoodie. It was much too big for her. For a moment Seth wondered if it was even hers. _Is it another guy's_ …?

 _Why would I care if it was_ …?

"I was surprised to run into you tonight," Seth said, countering his inner processing. "I didn't even know you were a student there."

"Yep. Going for a nursing degree."

Seth felt his lips parting in true awe. "Really? That's amazing."

She beamed. "Thanks! My plan is to get my Associate's here, then transfer to Columbia or somewhere to go for my Bachelor's." She waved her pen, bobbing it in her explanation.

Seth's bliss deflated a bit. One tiny hole in his balloon. "Oh, so you wanna leave the state?"

She nodded. "Columbia's my dream school. Unfortunately, that's not here. Nowhere close."

Seth tried not to be sad about it. _You barely know her. You can't miss what you don't have_. "That's awesome, Brie. Way to have big dreams. And stick to them. That can't be easy."

"No. It's not." She laughed. How was her voice so full of life, all on its own? "I mean, I'm at a community college and it's kicking my ass already."

"So kick it right back. Kick it in the gut. Stand over it proudly and be like, 'Hey, degree, you're all mine. Can't keep me down for long!'"

She was laughing again. Truly laughing at his ridiculousness. "Sorry. I'm a major dork," he professed.

"That's okay. I love major dorks."

The balloon was aerated once more. The hole had been taped up. _Nope. Can't be feeling like this, Seth. You fall for her, you're gonna get hurt. She's leaving. That's a sign right there_.

"So, what's your backup plan? Y'know, just in case life decides to be a pain in the ass, and uh…Columbia becomes…out of the question." _Could I sound like more of a jackass_? "Not that you _will_ get rejected from Columbia, but the acceptance rate is pretty fierce, and I just didn't want you to—"

She smiled to get him to shut up. Whether that was her plan or not, it worked. "I'm prepared for that. I should be getting a letter of acceptance or rejection any day now. I also applied to Duke, the University of Washington, Baylor, Cornell, and UC San Fransisco."

None of those schools were in Colorado. "Wow. You are all kinds of prepared. That's admirable."

"Yep. Even the backups for my _backups_ have backups."

"Well, good luck. On Columbia, first and foremost. Then the others, if that doesn't work out."  
"Thank you, Seth."

They paused their conversation to share an awkward quietude for a drink. _Don't get hammered, Rollins_.

Brie brought the discussion back to life. "What about you? What's your plan?"

Seth didn't want to talk about himself, but he answered her anyway. "Criminal justice. Starting out at Summit until I can afford a bigger university. The goal's to get a Bachelor's Degree, but right now I'm just looking to graduate with something." He wasn't about to delve into the details of his failed college experiences past.

"Oh, interesting." She freed one hand from her hoodie sleeve and cupped her chin in her palm. "What did you want to do with that? Policeman? CSI: Colorado Springs?"

"Actually, I want to be a detective."

"Like Sherlock!" Brie cried.

Seth cracked a grin. "That's what my best friend said. I could be the American Sherlock."

"I could totally see that. But you still need to rock the wooden pipe and the monocle and the mustache. You know. Pay homage."

"I'm a third there," Seth said, rubbing his fluffy chin. "Oh, actually, a fourth. Can't forget his signature hat."

"Ah, that's right. The deerstalker."

Seth shook his head. "Talk about looking like a major dork."

"Are you kidding? Can't go wrong dressing like a dashing hero like Sherlock Holmes."

"Wait, I have to ask: are we talking about Robert Downey Jr. Sherlock, or Benedict Cumberbatch Sherlock?"

"Either way, you're a badass who gets all the girls, right?"

"One would think." Seth chuckled pitifully, then helped himself to another sip. "But I'm not like either of those guys. By a long shot."

"Personally, I think Benedict Cumberbatch is far superior to—"

"To Iron Man?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"To anyone, really."

"Roman's obsessed with Marvel, and being around him all the time, it kinda rubs off on me. So I think I prefer RDJ." Plus, RDJ was gorgeous in a cocky know-it-all kind of way. Not that he would gush over another man's looks in front of Brie who barely knew him. In front of Brie, who captivated him by presence alone.

"So we've talked about the future," Brie said, carefully replacing her glass to the table. "What about you now? What are you looking for right now, in this moment?"

Seth had to resist the urge to lick his lips. _What am I looking for? I found it. I'm looking right at it_. "Uh, well, you know. I'm just sort of hanging in there. Working hard. Trying to make it by. Financial situation isn't easy right now, but…I'll get there."

Brie nodded, understanding. Compassionate. "It's hard. Especially in college."

"Don't I know it." He'd learned that through Roman. "What about you? What have you been up to since Valentine's Day? Still depriving some poor guy's heart of the joy that is dating Brie Bella?"

Her smile lengthened. _Holy crap, I can't believe I just said that. I am a freakin' player right now_. "Unfortunately so. It doesn't help that the _one_ guy I've been eyeing for nearly a year now only had eyes for my sister."

 _Don't remind me_. "You don't need that. You don't deserve to be neglected."

"Is that so?" she mused.

"Of course. You're beautiful, Brie, and he's crazy not to see that about you. To see what a treasure you are."

"I think your martini is speaking on your behalf, Seth."

"No. _I'm_ speaking on my behalf." Seth pushed the drink aside. "I know we talked about finding true love out there someday, but hear me out. You don't need a guy to make you happy. Never tell yourself that. Never believe it. And one day, he'll be there, because _he'll_ need _you_. Not to complete you, but to _share_ a pleasure with you. Stand by you as an equal, not as a crutch. Believe me when I say, men need women _way_ more than women need men."

Brie sighed. "You are truly profound, Seth. You know that?"

Was that a compliment? Was he rushing this? What did the sigh mean? _Stop overanalyzing things_.

"Here I thought it would be awkward small talk and lame jokes all night, but no. You tell it exactly how it is, and you make me feel really good about myself."

Relief crashed over him. _Nope. You're rocking it_. "I hate small talk. Conversation should have meaning, otherwise you're wasting breath. And I'm honored to bring that smile to your face, incidentally. I rather like it."

That grin didn't falter until Brie spoke again. "I compare myself to Nikki a lot," she admitted. "She's the gold medal, if you can believe it. We're twins, yet we're so different. She's one of those live-in-the-moment, fuck-all-what-they-think types. Excuse my language." She touched her hand to her lips. When was the last time someone _apologized_ for cussing? "I try to live in the moment, too, but to _learn_ something. To apply it to my future. I'm very future-oriented, but thinking about it too much really helps me lose focus on the now. What's right in front of me."

Seth swallowed. He was nervous suddenly.

Brie shook her head. Her straight hair didn't roam free in the movement. She must have ironed it flat to preserve the look. "I'm sorry to rant like this. There's just some days I wish I _was_ as bold as Nikki. As confident. As fearless."

"Well, you're not _not_ fearless, if that helps. You want to go to medical school, be a nurse. That takes a lot of valor."

Brie smiled. "Thank you."

"I'm serious. Never lose confidence in who you are, Brie. Quite frankly, you're wonderful. Anyone within your vicinity can see it, who isn't totally blind or has a heart of stone. And you're going to see it, too. And as a bonus? So is the person you're meant to fall in love with. And I know that right guy will feel the same way. No matter where you are in life, you _can_ be happy, if you want to be. And you will be. You know what you want, and that's awesome. Don't give up on that. Never give up on _you_."

Who _was_ he? He felt himself channeling Roman, because he wasn't the type to be so straightforward with someone he barely knew. Brie was soaking it all in. Whatever he was doing, it was working. Whatever he was going for, he was getting it.

Randy wasn't even on his mind.

Until.

One Direction's "Perfect" blasted in low quality. Brie scooped a phone from her pocket and apologized with a frowning face. Her eyes glanced at the screen. She apologized again and mentioned the call was from her sister.

"What's up?" she asked, sounding irritated. She listened to Nikki's banter for a while, then the frown grayed to sadness, any indication of prior anger now gone. "Oh, dang. Okay. I'll be home soon."

Seth was crushed. They had to end their time together _now_?

"Want me to pick you up anything on the way? Besides the standard. Okay. Chocolate and vodka it is."

"That doesn't sound good," Seth said when the call was over.

"Nikki and Randy kinda got into it."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. It happens once in a while. They'll make up by morning. I'm sure he just had a little too much to drink and said some stupid shit. It's his MO."

"Class act," Seth said. _Hot class act, but still_. "He didn't…like…hit her, did she?"

Brie made a face like she was about to laugh. "Oh, God, no. And even if he did, she'd kick his ass long before calling the police. You don't mess with Nikki. Another thing I envy her for. She's a tough muffin."

Brie stood up, a slight wobble in her lift. Seth raised to his feet, almost reaching for her hand. "You gonna be okay to drive?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine. Just had a head rush. Like I said, I can hold my liquor."

 _My kinda woman. So I've learned. Right here. Tonight_.

 _But why the hell does she have to leave_ …

Seth paid for the drinks and walked her to the parking lot. "Thanks for taking me out tonight, Seth. I needed it. Now I get to go home and live it up with Nikki. Right before my big exam. _Yay_."

"Don't stay up too late, party too hard," Seth warned her, only slightly teasing.

"Promise. No partying tonight. Probably talking shit about men and then falling asleep with empty bottles on the floor. But don't worry. I probably won't drink much. I _cannot_ do anything to risk failing this exam."

"Good luck on it. You'll rock it."

They stopped in front of her car. She unlocked the door with a remote key, then turned around, lifted to her toes, and kissed his cheeks. They immediately warmed in the cold of night. Breathless, he touched where she'd kissed him, as if to lock the feeling there forever.

"You're pretty wonderful yourself, Seth Rollins. And I may not be a smooth talker like you, so I'll leave it at this. Everything you said back there about finding an equal and being happy and never giving up on yourself? Ditto."

Seth laughed. "Noted. Thanks."

He gave her a tight hug. She smelled like cinnamon and apples.

"Text me," she told him.

"Will do."

He watched her go, then sat in the driver's seat of his own car for a long time, engine off, air cold around him, hands in his lap.

 _You told her she could be happy at any given point if she wanted to be. 'Bout time you took your own advice, Rollins. Be happy. Go on. Do it_.

But it was hard with a universe wreaking havoc on his love life. Dean Ambrose was taken by Roman Reigns. Randy Orton was a straight asshole, apparently. Now Brie Bella, a beautiful, kind, smart, amazing woman, was leaving before she could even arrive. It just kept happening over and over. For the third time ever in his life, he felt an attraction towards someone knowing damn well it wasn't going to go anywhere and there was a one-hundred and ten percent chance he was going to get hurt.

* * *

 ** _Aww, poor Seth, am I right? :( Don't worry, my fellow Rollins lovers, I have great plans for him...and Brie...and Randy! He deserves to be happy, after all, does he not? ;)_**


	8. Chapter 8

**_A/N: I was just wondering how you guys were liking this story so far. Would you let me know? Honesty is appreciated. I do enjoy constructive criticism; it helps me to write the best story I can possibly write. Obviously, this one is a bit different than "More Than Words" so far. My ideas for this involve more of a character story than plot, at least in the beginning. Especially now that we're going into Seth and Dean's perspectives, it's a good chance to open up some development for them, and you can learn how they feel, what they think. It's a new angle for this particular fic, and I'm enjoying it so far. So I'd like to know: are you?_**

 ** _That said! This chapter features bonding between Seth and Dean, Dean playing hero and the introduction of two new important characters. Recognize 'em? Enjoy!_**

* * *

It had been a great night. Great night.

Until Cesaro decided to go and fuck it all up.

It hadn't taken long for some plans to form for Cesaro and Dean and Roman. Dinner at his house Saturday night. The girls would be there. Chitchat, a meal, maybe a movie, then Cesaro would put his daughters to bed and they could crack open a cold one.

Sounded nice. Simple.

Roman was looking forward to it, maybe even more than Dean was. He'd gotten over his Cesaro hype. It had ignited for a moment again when his brother mentioned he had a growing guitar collection. Dean was itching to get his hands on at least one of them. He'd bring Caroline along, sort of as a surprise.

Night was over. Time to say goodbye—or, Dean's preference, "until next time." Then Cesaro had to open his big fucking trap and say the words that would ultimately ruin the rest of Dean's night—and the morning after.

"You should call Mom."

Because, no. Hell no. That bitch had done nothing good for Dean. Alright, sure, she'd worked to provide for her children when Cesaro's daddy was incarcerated. "Parenting" was synonymous with "working", but "working" was not synonymous with "parenting." It made sense in his head. She'd work to pay the bills off and then…that was it.

He'd already made the decision to never speak to her again.

But Cesaro, damn Cesaro and his damn promotion of kindliness. It couldn't work. It shouldn't have worked. Yet Dean found himself unable to argue when he took down his mother's number into his phone from Cesaro's.

And that smile. That smile on his face that could sell anything to anyone. That smile that convinced Dean maybe he was doing the right thing. "She'll be happy to hear from you," said the salesman voice attached to the cheery grin.

Cesaro was such a good guy and Dean hated it.

Dean woke up feeling even more bitter than usual. Bitter only because Roman was long gone and on with his day. He missed Roman every time his eyes flit open and he was alone in bed.

He had a familiar pain in his head. _One of those days, huh? Awesome_.

Cesaro's words burned in his brain. "You should call Mom."

His past was just crashing the door down at this point, wasn't it? Jack Torrence style, ax and all. " _Heeeeeere's Johnny_!"

Dean moved out of the bedroom, not bothering to get dressed, wearing nothing but socks and boxer shorts. Seth was home, on the couch. Dean wasn't uncomfortable. Seth had seen him naked before. This was modest in their relationship.

And, when you know a guy for so long, you know everything there is to know about him. When he's way too happy. When he's miserable but trying to hide it. When he's staring at some show on the television and you know just looking at him his mind is far from the program.

"So we're both depressed today. Nice," Dean said without smiling.

Seth glanced at him, tired eyes blinking behind his glasses. "I'm not depressed."

"My ass."

Seth returned his focus to the TV. "Your ass is probably about to freeze off. Aren't you cold?"

"No? Why?"

"Cold front moved in last night."

Dean found himself flabbergasted. "It was just, like, fifty and sunny."

"Welcome to Colorado, Ambrose."

Dean crossed the floor and drew back one blind, peeping out. Sure enough, the parking lot was shrouded in a miserable gray cloak.

"Damn."

"Yeah, gonna be fun getting out and working in this later," Seth mentioned.

"I was gonna get downtown today and try to earn some more dough. Guess that's out of the question now."

"You could still do that. Just bundle up."

"Oh, I know _I_ could. But there won't be many folks strolling around willing to listen a while and give me some cash."

"Since when do you do it specifically to get paid?" Dean could almost hear his eyebrow raising at the abnormal statement.

"You know. Money's been tight lately and I just wanted to help out."

"We're okay. Roman's already stressed about it. I don't need us all worrying about it."

"Roman's stressed about it?" The fact he was didn't surprise Dean; the surprise came from hearing it from Seth before hearing it from Roman. Roman usually told him everything.

"Yeah. We talked about it this morning. Took me twenty minutes to try to convince him we'll be fine. I've got rent covered for the month. He feels really guilty, not having more money. I told him it's fine, it's part of that good old college and minimum-wage life."

Dean felt offended he'd missed out on what seemed like a family conversation. "This was all this morning?"

"Yep. Way early. You were still asleep."

"How early?" Now Dean's brow was peaking.

"Around five-thirty or so."

"The hell were you doing awake at five-thirty on a morning you don't open at work?"

"I've been up all night," Seth said like it was admittance of a great sin.

"Oh. Uh-huh. Not depressed, sure."

"I'm not depressed."

"My fucking _ass_. Seth, if you don't come clean, I _will_ use my not-so-secret weapon."

"Drop it, Dean."

But Dean was steadfast. He leaned his head on Seth's shoulder, chin dipped downward, baby blues elevating to meet Seth's distant stare. He could see Seth resisting, knowing damn well he'd break and confess any secrets as soon as his hazel eyes connected with Dean's. For extra kicks, Dean pushed his bottom lip forward. Sincere. Sweet. Irresistible.

"Damn you, peripheral vision," Seth said, caving to a pathetic smile.

"I'm going to guess it's about the guy whose shirt you're wearing."

Seth looked down at the plain white material, cheeks holding a pink tinge. "Strike one," he mumbled.

"Oh, strikes two and three are already on the board, Rollins. You wouldn't be up all night before a closing shift at work if something wasn't keeping you from getting a good night's rest. _And_ , you're watching _Good Morning America_ , which I know you hate because of the 'puppet anchors who're way too perky.'"

Seth kept the feeble smile going. "Caught."

"Busted wide open, baby. So is it about Randy? Work? I'll all ears." Dean kept his head on Seth's shoulder as he finally opened up, starting with a sigh.

"It's like, why can't I meet someone who I really like, who likes me, and we can just _be_ together without any internal or external conflicts messing it all up? How'd you get so lucky that you meet Roman, you guys fall in love in a snap…and that's it?"

"Well…I guess me and Roman were, you know. Meant to be."

"You don't believe in fate."

"No, but I believe in love. Love's got its own game plan that defies logic, defies the world. I believe love can create its own world."

"Geez, you're a sap."

"I know. Didn't used to be, remember?"

"No. Not at all."

"That's what love does, brother. Converts people. Rattles 'em. Throttles 'em. And everyone's susceptible to the shit."

"My problem isn't within capability or non, or willingness or non, of falling in love. It's receiving it back, that's my issue."

"You falling in love with Randy?"

"No. But I do have a crush on him. You were right. Laugh it up."

"No. I'm not gonna laugh it up, Seth."

"Good. I'd beat you up if you did."

"Okay, _now_ I'm gonna laugh it up." The end of his sentence dissolved into a giggle, and Seth knocked his shoulder up, pushing Dean off him. "No, but seriously, what's the issue?"

"What's the issue? Dean, you should see the way he's all over Nikki Bella. He's clearly not swinging for the other team." Seth pushed off the couch. "You want some coffee?"

"Sure." Dean followed Seth to the kitchen. "Just because a guy's attracted to a girl doesn't mean he's incapable of having those kinds of feelings for you. There's a difference between love and lust, my dude."

"I know, but—"

"Is he in love with Nikki Bella?"

"He's not gay." Seth poured himself a cup of coffee from an already half-full pot. Roman must have made it this morning. Typical perfect coffee expert boyfriend. "And I doubt he's bi."

"Have you asked him that?"

"No, but—"

"Don't tell me you can 'tell' he's not gay just by looking at him, because that's crap. Who you are and how you feel about people should have nothing to do with the way you look."

"Dean, stop trying to get my hopes up." Seth poured Dean a cup next, and Dean headed to the fridge with the warm mug in hand. "I appreciate you trying to help me feel better, but it's not happening. It has nothing to do with how he looks, and by the way, he looks fucking gorgeous."

Dean concurred.

"He's into girls," Seth went on, sipping his drink black. _Yuck_. "He's a straight guy. Whatever. I'm not gonna come onto him and say, 'you're gay or you're totally bi, you just don't know it yet because you haven't been with me.' You can't _make_ someone what they're not. It's not a choice."

"I know that. All I'm saying is, you don't know until you know." Dean brought the full bottle of caramel-flavored creamer to the counter and let a gentle stream fill his mug.

"Thank you, General Duh."

"I'm serious. Take any two people in the world, and it applies to them." Dean scooped five spoonfuls of sugar into his mug and stirred the concoction well. Seth made a face at him. "You do _not_ know if you're going to end up together, happily, until you know. Most of the time, it doesn't work out, but that doesn't mean it won't for everyone. And I mean _everyone_. Guy and girl, guy and guy, girl and girl. Doesn't matter. Love is love. And like I said. It's got its own game plan. You're born into what you're going to be, and it plays out in your life according to love's plan. Everyone learns. _You'll_ learn. You'll know."

"And when will I know?" Seth asked like he was challenging Dean.

"It comes in time. As does all forms of knowledge." Dean sipped his overly sweet drink. _Yum_.

"And what if it comes time for me to learn, and I figure out it's just as I thought all along? He's not gay and I'm wasting my time liking him?"

"Then you get over him, and you concentrate on living the life you're supposed to live, and eventually stumble across someone else who's gonna make you feel that way. And are you meant to be with them instead? You won't know until you know."

"Someone else…"

"Is that literally all you got from that?"

"No, I heard you, I just…someone else…the thought."

Dean read his mind. "Is there someone else? Already?"

Seth's voice went timid. "You know that girl Nikki Bella I brought up?"

"Her?"

"No. Her sister, Brie."

"Ah."

"I haven't known her for long, but we've been together a couple of times now, and…she's incredible. She knows what she wants in this world, and that, to me, is impressive. She's willing to work so hard for it. She's strong, albeit lacks confidence. But so do I, sometimes. We can relate."

"Go on." Dean gulped his coffee down.

"She's beautiful, too…I mean, her smile, and that laugh. It's disarming. She cares so much about others. And she's so smart. She wants to go to medical school. She's a crazy wonderful woman."

"Kitten," Dean teased.

"Yeah, I'll admit to it today."

Dean made himself another cup of the sweet, sweet brew. "So if you're worried about Randy not being available to snag, why not just go out with Brie?"

"Because she wants to go to medical school."

Dean blinked, not understanding the complication.

"Out of state. She might leave."

"Oh." Dean was saddened on Seth's behalf. "Fuck, bro. Girl comes along who catches your eye for, like, what, the first time in your life? And she might be out? That's rough. Don't blame you for being depressed."

"Thanks. But enough about me. Why are you depressed?"

"Am I?"

"You said we're _both_ depressed. I assume you indicated yourself and myself."

"Oh yeah, I kinda did give that away, huh?" Dean clicked his tongue. "Well, mine's way more selfish of a reason than yours is."

"Go for it."

Dean wandered back over to the couch, full cup in hand. "You know how I told you my brother's back in town?"

"Yeah."

He drew in a deep breath to carry out the words that were still jabbing him like a cattle prod. "He said I should get into contact with Angela." He lowered himself to the couch and touched the steamy liquid to his lips.

Seth's jaw sunk in mistrustful attention. "He really thinks that's a good idea?"

"He insinuated it. He said she'll be happy to hear from me."

Seth scoffed. "You should call her up and brag about how fucking amazing your life is now."

"Thought about it. Also thought about leaving her the hell alone forever. But one thing is holding me back from making the latter decision for sure."

"What's that?"

Dean folded his hands around the mug in his lap, vision fully concentrated on the wrinkles in his skin, the calluses on his fingertips, the light brown saccharine liquid. He felt if he looked at Seth while admitting this, he just might have cried. He was so angry.

"Cesaro told me…she had another kid last year."

Seth gasped. "Get out."

"I'm not kidding."

"With…your dad, or, I'm sorry, no…Cesaro's dad?"

"I forgive you. And yeah, apparently he got out of prison and they went at it like fucking rabbits. Literally."

Seth rubbed his lips together. "I can't believe they're still together, for one. Let alone…proud parents once again." He sat on the couch next to Dean.

"Oh, I doubt they're proud. I doubt they even wanted the kid. That's my concern. Dad flipped his shit when he found out Mom was pregnant with me."

"Yeah, but that had more to do with the cheating aspect, right?"

"It would have if he'd convinced her to…y'know, do away with me. Then they could have gotten over it. But no. She kept me, just like she made the decision to keep this kid. I can't imagine if Dad's happy about it or not. Personally I don't give a fuck what he thinks, but I do give a fuck about Sami."

"That's his name? Sami?"

"Apparently. I heard all this from Cesaro, but he wouldn't lie to me. He said he talks to her everyday. That's how he knows."

" _Jesus_ ," Seth breathed.

"I'm so concerned for this kid, Seth. I can't get it out of my head. He's probably growing up in the same shit storm I did. The only difference is, Dad wasn't around for a good deal of mine, so I got to avoid his bullshit. He's back home again now, and who knows how he's treating little Sami?"

"So you really feel you should call her. To find out the status and condition of the home, and your new…baby half-brother."

"Exactly."

"But you don't want to, because you thought you could leave the past in the past and move on without looking back."

"Yep." Dean popped the letter "p." "Hitting the nail on the head, Seth."

"That's what I'm here to do. Tell you the right thing to do, even if it kills you. But I doubt this will kill you."

"It's an invitation to self-destruction, but yeah, no, I'll be fine."

"I think you _will_ be." Seth bumped knees with him. "You've made it through all this other shit in your life. A phone call won't be your stopping point."

"This bites," Dean sighed.

"I know."

"Thanks for letting me vent, bro."

"Hey, thanks for letting me come clean like a little bitch. And not judging me for the most part."

"Anytime. I love you."

"Love you too, Ambrose."

* * *

A lazy morning of coffee and video games warped into an irritating afternoon while Seth bundled up in preparation for working in a cold garage with an open door, drafting gusts in that chilled by the hour. Dean figured Seth wasn't going to suffer alone. He too bundled up to face the cold, willingly. Acacia Park was beckoning him. And if he concentrated on his songs, he could elude the phone call for just a little while longer.

He had a feeling it was going to happen. He had to face the music _sometime_.

But first, he'd embrace the music.

Sure enough, the bus was crammed with shivering passengers, yet Acacia Park was not everyone's final destination. Only one soul was in sight around these parts, and he was fast asleep under a newspaper on a park bench. Dean moved to his favorite corner and set up shop, case propped open for the little money he'd be getting today—if any—and gloved fingers tuning his guitar to pristine sound with the pick waiting to go to work between his teeth.

Practice was over. Time to play.

He only missed a couple of notes in the introduction, but his rendition of the opening was excellent otherwise. He carried into the first verse vocally.

" _Well you've heard about love givin' sight to the blind_

 _My baby's lovin' cause the sun to shine_

 _She's my sweet little thing, she's my pride and joy_

 _She's my sweet little baby, I'm her little lover boy_

 _Yeah I love my baby, my heart and soul_

 _Love like ours won't never grow old_

 _She's my sweet little thing, she's my pride and joy_

 _She's my sweet little baby, I'm her little lover boy_."

Dean powered through the soulful country song as if he was singing about a girl he really loved. There was none, of course, but he could pretend he was singing about Roman, the _man_ he loved, replacing the "she"s with "he"s and "hers" with "his." Stand-in words that only occurred in his mind, not aloud.

A guy with long blond hair and a matching beard dropped a couple of dollars in the case. "Yeah, boy, represent!" he shouted. Dean was nearly interrupted, but he smiled through his flawless lyrics to thank the stranger. _Alright, few bucks is better than jack shit. Progress has been made_.

Towards the end of the song, Dean glimpsed over what was, a moment ago, a near-empty park, and saw the sleeping hobo had awoken and was asking the _other_ only soul, a young woman, for money.

The young woman was either out of cash or unwilling to hand any over. Dean never got upset with anyone for not giving him money in his street days. He just moved onto the next potential donor.

This man, however, was no Dean Ambrose.

He stalked her across the park. Dean could hear him now. "Come on, I'm starving. You've gotta have _something_ on your person, lady."

"Please leave me alone," she said, quickening the pace which he was not hesitant to match. Was he drunk? On drugs? Why couldn't he leave her be?

"I'm fuckin' starvin', bitch!" he snarled. "Just gimmie a dollar! Please!"

"Leave me alone!" she shouted.

 _Oh, hell no. This ends now_.

Dean clutched the little money he'd earned after half a song from his case, held on tight to Caroline, and made his way over to the scene. The girl was trapped at a street corner with evening traffic blocking her from crossing the road without getting hit.

"Please," she said, frightened and shaking. She was certainly not dressed for this weather: a faux-leather jacket over a pink dress that stopped just before her knees, legs only protected against the air by pantyhose, and heeled boots. In one hand she held a Starbucks cup; in the other, a Coach purse. No way she didn't have money to give to this strange man who now displayed signs of madness, but he should have just left her alone. He should not have called her a bitch. Should not have chased her, yelled at her.

Because now Dean was involved.

And he was pissed.

"What part of 'leave her alone' are you not getting, buddy?" Dean barked, stepping between them. There hadn't been much space amid them to start, so now he was right in the aggressor's face.

"She's a fuckin' lyin'-ass bitch, dog!" His breath was just as reeking as the rest of him. His teeth were dark-yellow, his eyes sunken and void of color. Dean guessed drugs. He would have pitied this man on any other occasion, but he'd crossed the line.

"I don't give a shit, pal. She said back off. So back. Off."

His wrinkled face glowered at the girl over Dean's shoulder. "Probably make a bunch of money dressed like that, you fuckin' skank."

Dean was so ready to knock this guy's yellowed teeth right out of his mouth, but he had a different idea to try first. He held up the money from his guitar case and said, "You want cash? Here. Take this."

He stared at Dean, incredulous. Dean drilled his eyes into the stranger's. Slowly he lifted a hand, cracked and dry from consistent exposure to this weather, and took the money from Dean.

Then the brittle hand made a fist and struck Dean in the jaw, the unexpected blow casting Dean backwards.

The girl screamed.

His body twisted around, but his hands and knees broke his fall. Fortunately—or unfortunately—he was used to quick bracing during and after a hit. Caroline's body smacked against the cold sidewalk.

Dean's money in hand, the stranger sprinted off, leaving his bench and newspaper behind.

"Somebody stop him!" the young woman screamed. "Hey! Somebody!" Realizing her efforts were useless—so long as they were no police around, nobody else was going to step up and play vigilante—she lowered to her knees beside Dean, risking holes in her pantyhose as they scraped against the sidewalk.

"Oh my God, are you okay?" she asked.

"Me? Peachy," Dean tried, opening and lowering his jaw, pushing it side to side. It didn't feel broken, but he could taste blood on his lip.

"You're bleeding," she noted in a panic.

"It's nothing, really. I'm fine. Been through worse."

But she ignored his disputes and insistences. She opened up her purse and tugged a Kleenex out of a packet. Instead of letting Dean tend to himself, she dabbed the bloody spot on his lip. The touch stung, but it cleaned him up alright.

"Thank you for that," she said. "He was really scaring me."

"Eh, you get a lot of those guys around here," Dean said. "Sorry about that."

"Don't be sorry. You didn't harass me. You saved me."

"Still am."

She smiled at him. She was pretty, that couldn't be disputed. Soft brown hair fell long and wavy over her shoulders. Pecan-colored eyes regarded him with concern. "Are you gonna be okay?"

"Absolutely. My girl, on the other hand…" Dean lifted Caroline up by the strap and inspected her body. He frowned when he saw she was chipped in two places. _Fucking perfect_.

"Seriously, that was brave, what you did for me."

Dean's face flushed. "It's nothing. Really." _More concerned with the condition of my guitar_.

They stood up together.

"Do you play here in the park, then?" she asked.

"Yeah, sometimes. Good way to make a little money. Otherwise it's just what I do best."

"Well, here. You got robbed, sort of, protecting me." She dropped the bloodied tissue to the ground and returned her hand to the depths of her gigantic designed bag. When she drew out a long flashy wallet, Dean put up a hand.

"Seriously. You don't need to pay me for anything. I'm just glad you're alright."

"I want to. Please. I trust you not to blow it on booze or drugs, like that nut job probably would have. You've got to make an earning too, right?"

She was just as stubborn as he was. Dean was about to decline again when her gloved fingers drew a ten-dollar bill from a fold. That was hard to say no to. Ten dollars more to go to groceries.

 _No. Be considerate. Come on, Ambrose_. "Really…it's—"

But she took hold of his hand, placed the bill in his palm, and tucked his fingers closed over it. "It's not nothing," she said, voice soft, warm, full of thanks. "Please."

Dean caved. It was too good to say no to now that it was in hand. "Alright. Thanks. I appreciate it."

"I'm AJ."

"I'm Dean."

"So, what all do you play?"

The air was crisp. It physically hurt to take a breath of this stuff. "Well, I like to come down here and—"

"AJ!"

Someone was waving at her from across the street. A muscular guy jogged across the road in front of two cars, which both honked at him. Without looking back, he gave both of them the finger. Puffy, out of breath from just that short run, he voiced, "I've been waiting for you."

"I'm sorry. I got…caught up with something."

 _Yeah, don't make it sound suspicious or anything_.

He stood just an inch or two shorter than Dean, but that fact didn't seem to bother him as he looked Dean in the eyes and asked, "With what? Who's this?"

"Dean Ambrose," Dean introduced himself, "and with all due respect, I'd like a little bit of yours."

"Man, I don't know you." He disregarded Dean at once, turning to AJ. "What's going on, AJ?"

"Nothing. I just met him, Phil. Dean saved me."

Dean beamed, but the thought didn't settle well with Phil the Greaser here. His brown hair was slicked back with so much gel, the streetlights made the mane shine. His facial hair made him appear a bit older than he truly was.

"He _saved_ you?" Phil asked, sounding disgusted that one could do such a thing.

"Yeah, I saved her," Dean said. "Guy was going nuts, following her around the park, asking her for money. Probably would have mugged her if I hadn't stepped in." Dean didn't play the hero too often, but this felt good, and he was going to relish in it.

"Shit! Are you okay, AJ?" He wrapped his skinny arms around her. "I'm so sorry I wasn't here. I would have killed him for touching you."

"He didn't touch me," AJ insisted.

"It didn't get that far," Dean said. _Luckily. Or else, yeah, I probably would have killed him, too_.

"Thank God." His eyes moved onto Dean again, this time in a different shade. "Well…thanks for being there when you were, guy."

"It's Dean. And it's no problem."

"Let's get home, AJ."

Ah. So they lived together. Dating, most likely, if not engaged or married. No brother and sister looked at each other that way, cartoon hearts nearly spawning in their eyes. AJ looked at Dean, smiling sweetly.

"Thank you again, Dean."

"Yeah. See you around, AJ." _Or not_.

AJ and Phil the Greaser waited for the light to turn green, then sauntered across the street safely, hand-in-hand. Dean waited for them to blend in with the rest of the downtown night before turning around and deciding to call it a night himself. Ten bucks richer, one guitar splintered, empty case and a hero mark on his card.

Not a bad way to spend an evening.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Desperate times call for desperate measures, and Roman is willing to do anything - well, almost anything - to save his family from their financial plight. But how far is too far? Is he willing to meet those levels and take that risk? Let's find out...**_

* * *

Roman headed to the library after work to begin his essay. He could have gotten it done at home, but his boyfriend Dean made for a hell of a distraction.

He occupied an entire desk with his belongings, opening up his laptop, his _Concise Epidemiologic Principles and Concepts_ textbook, and his notes. He stared a blank document down, watching the cursor blink on and off again for over ten minutes.

Roman supposed Dean wasn't his only potential distraction.

Life itself proved to be a hindrance.

He folded his arms over the desk and nestled his head in the bend of his elbow. He was tired, so tired. He had a headache from his own stress levels. If he didn't get this financial situation figured out soon, he was going to worry himself into a mental breakdown.

He'd talked about it with Seth this morning before leaving. It pained him worse than a migraine, watching Seth write that check. Of course neither of them were truly okay with it, but what choice did they have? They weren't homeless, and to prevent such a misfortune, money had to be given away.

And for money to be given away, money had to be earned.

And right now, he just wasn't earning that much at Java Central.

He considered quitting. Finding work elsewhere that could pay him more. But what good with that do? He could only work as much as his school schedule allowed him; that was true at the coffeehouse or anywhere Roman was employed. And he was not about to quit without a Plan B.

Roman sat up. Stared that blinking cursor down, down, down.

Drawing a blank. Just like his life.

He closed his eyes. Nearly fell asleep. _How to get money with only one crap job…how to work without much time…_

Then he considered something.

Roman pulled open a web browser and typed in craigslist. The place was a classified advertisements website with sections devoted to housing, personals, for sale, items wanted, services, and jobs. Side work. Usually nothing too complicated. A few hours or an afternoon helping out some old lady with housework, and he was a little richer in reward.

Roman also had a great deal of junk he could try selling over this site. But for now, he kept to the "Jobs" subsection. He scrolled through the next with two fingers on the touchpad, eyes skimming over his options. None of them sounded especially appealing. Dental insurance coordinator, land reclamation, heavy equipment mechanic—he kept that in mind for Seth's benefit—auto body painter—also an idea for Seth to perhaps consider—hair stylist, plumber, shuttle driver…

Then one posting caught his eye.

" _Administrative assistant needed for local publishing company. Duties include organizing and researching projects to tight deadlines; summarizing written material; correcting manuscripts; using computers for word processing, desktop publishing and email; dealing with phone and email queries, e.g. from writers and the public; filing, photocopying, and other routine administrative tasks. Job starts at $12.75/hr. Phone number and email listed if interested_."

The company listed above the number and email address was Pioneer Publishing. Roman had heard of them once or twice.

He considered it. Editing sounded like a cake walk. And with a year to go until he obtained his Bachelor's Degree, he didn't see himself qualified for any sort of medical or training assistance positions. So far, this didn't sound too bad, especially at $12.75 an hour.

Roman's natural spirit of inquiry made him pull up a separate tab and type "Pioneer Publishing" into the search engine.

The business was not too big and not too small, situated in the Rockrimmon area off Centennial Boulevard. At least the part of town was decent. In fact, it was lavish compared to the rest of the city. Founded in 1973. A few authors with their works published by this company were posted under a brief history of the company.

At the bottom was a line of pictures, depicting the staff.

Roman's jaw dropped at the first picture in line.

Hunter Hearst Rollins.

Seth's father.

Executive Vice President.

Something inside Roman screamed, " _NO_! Absolutely not!" Seth hated his father. He wanted nothing to do with his family anymore. Roman couldn't even remember a time Seth mentioned his folks after their Christmas Eve spat. To work for the man who seemed to despise Seth now, truly loathed his best friend, the love of Roman's life Dean Ambrose…seemed out of the question.

He clicked away from the offer and kept scrolling.

And scrolling.

And scrolling.

Nothing else sounded that great, didn't pay too well, couldn't qualify for the rest. Nothing else compared to $12.75 an hour just to edit some manuscripts and answering emails and picking up the phone. Why? Of all the offers on this site, why did Hunter's—Mr. Rollins's—appeal to him so greatly?

Because Hunter knew Roman.

He liked Roman.

Because Roman needed this, badly. He was desperate. He needed to provide for his family.

And the job was practically his, guaranteed, if he made himself available for the position.

Roman clicked back to the offer, afraid he'd lost it for a moment.

Stared it down as he'd stared down the blinking cursor.

Typed the number into his phone.

Stepped into the lobby, his desk still in sight through a window so he could watch his stuff and ensure nobody stole his laptop.

And pressed Call.

The ringing in his ear felt loud, obnoxious. Roman pressed his other arm tight over his aching chest, waiting. He didn't know if he wanted Hunter to answer or miss the call. _If he answers, it's meant to be. If he doesn't, there's my answer—_

"Hello?"

Roman's throat went dry. For a moment he forgot how to breathe. He felt dizzy. He ambled towards a chair in case he lost his footing. _This is so wrong._

"Is this Mr. Rollins?"

"Yes. Who am I speaking with?"

"This is Roman Reigns. Seth's friend?"

A long pause. Roman thought the call might have been disconnected and there was his sign. But then he heard a breath draw from the other end, and Roman frowned. _Maybe the fact I feel so shitty just calling about this job should be enough of a sign_. "Roman! Hello! How are you this evening, son?"

 _Don't call me that_. "Fine. How are you?" he asked simply to be polite.

"Just fine, thanks. I'm actually surprised to be hearing from you."

"Yeah. I'm surprised myself to be calling."

"What can I do for you?"

Roman licked his chapped, chapped lips. "I was actually…calling about that administrative assistant position your company posted on craigslist."

"Oh?"

Roman bit his lip, tasting blood through the parched skin. _But I can't do it. Nope, I can't do this to Seth. Feels like betrayal, I don't care how much I need the money, there's something else, there's gotta be something else—_

"I'm sorry, Roman, but the position's been filled. In fact, one of his first jobs as an assistant was to take that advertisement off the site. Guess he's not doing such a hot job so far."

Roman laughed. It was genuine. He was relieved. Saddened he had to keep looking for other forms of income, but glad he hadn't quite resorted to going behind his little brother's back. Not that he would have taken up the position without informing Seth of it, if Hunter had offered it to him. Of course he would have discussed it with Seth before considering it. Seth meant more to him than all the money in the world.

"Why are you asking about it, though, if I may ask? Did you lose your job?"

"Oh, no, just…looking for some side work to…you know. Can't hurt to have a little extra money around the house, right?"

"Are you boys having some trouble?"

Roman wanted to lie. Deny it. Thank Hunter for his time and get the hell out of his phone call. But something stopped him. What if Hunter turned to Seth for some answers? Seth wouldn't be too thrilled about it, Roman guessed. No, Seth would find out about this phone call through Roman first and nobody would beat him to it.

He had to be honest. Keep Hunter on his side.

"Yeah. We are. I was out of work for a little while, and Dean was, too. I'm falling behind in bills and rent, and with Seth going back to school and everything, I just needed some extra money to get us through this tough spot. But I'll get us there. Somehow."

"Seth went back to school?"

Roman was stunned. "H-he didn't tell you that?" _Nice one, Reigns. Why don't you just tell him about his son's involvement in gunning down Dean's kidnapper, while you're in the sharing circle_?

"No, I haven't heard from Seth since…well, since Christmas," Hunter said, sounding glum. "Well, good for him. I'm proud of him for stepping up to the plate again."

Roman didn't like the way that sounded.

"Roman, if you needed money, why didn't you come to me in the first place? Of course I'm willing to help you and Seth out. He's my son. I love him."

The same man talking about how useless and what a waste Dean Ambrose was, expressing kindheartedness and compassion. Roman didn't know what to believe. He kept his guard up.

"Tell you what. Why don't you drop by the house sometime this week, and I can—"

"No. I'm sorry, Mr. Rollins, but with all due respect, no. I don't take handouts. I work to earn what I deserve. I'm no charity over here. I'm going to provide for my family in a way I feel is right." _And taking free money from you is_ definitely _not right_.

"Roman, I have another job available, is what I was going to say."

Roman cast out a troubled breath. "You do?"

"Yes. I'm actually looking for a _personal_ assistant. I'm the Vice President of the company, so I'm always working. I could use me one of those aides. Everything the ad discussed, um…responding to emails, arranging meetings, editing my articles. Basic work. You don't even need a college degree for it. And I can probably up the pay on what the ad mentioned."

Tempting…so very tempting…even Jesus was tempted in the desert by Satan himself…

But Roman was firm. Resilient against the lure. "I need to discuss it with Seth first, sir. I want him to know what I'd be up to."

Another pause. "You know he probably won't be okay with it, right, Roman?"

"If he's not, then I won't accept it." _Why wouldn't he accept it_? "I'm sorry. I know how Seth feels, and he's the family I'm trying to support. I'd do anything for him, _and_ for Dean, but if this feels as dirty and rotten as he might view it as…I'm sorry. But no." _Surely he'll understand_ …

"That's fine, Roman," Hunter said through a suppressed sigh. "You chat him up. Try to get him to see reason. I appreciate your pride, for one, and your loyalty for another. You're a good man, Roman Reigns. Even when you think you're not."

 _Doesn't feel like that right now. But alright_. "Thanks for understanding."

"I hope to be hearing from you soon, Roman."

Roman ended the call. Lingered alone in the library for several minutes.

Then packed up his things and headed into the brisk evening. The essay would have to wait.

* * *

Seth wasn't home when Roman arrived, of course, but Dean was so happy to see him. Roman couldn't help but smile against his bad mood when Dean bounded towards the door and greeted him with a hug, a kiss, and a, "Hey, Superman. I missed you today."

"I missed you too, Dean."

"How was your day?"

"I'm tired," Roman said.

"Yeah? I get that. Come over to the couch," he enticed. "We have the place to ourselves."

Roman joined him on the long piece of furniture that held just the two of them rather comfortably, facing one another. Roman held onto him tight, warm, stroking his brawn bare arms, fingers lacing themselves with his guitarist's tough fingers.

"Guess what?" Dean asked. Roman was nodding off when the question was asked. His breath was warm and sweet on Roman's neck.

"Mmmwhat?" Roman quizzed.

"I stopped a mugging today. Or, what could have turned into a mugging."

"Did you?"

"I sure did." Pride painted Dean's tone. "It was awesome. This stupid asshole was chasing this girl around the park asking for money. I stepped in and made him back off."

"Did you get hurt?"

"Not really."

Roman opened one eye. Dean's face didn't look too badly damaged. No bruising anywhere, but he did see a bit of dried blood on his bottom lip. "'Not really'?"

"I mean, he swung at me, but it was a tickle compared to the shit I've felt in this life."

Roman pressed his hand over Dean's cheek, his thumb stroking the jawline. "You're alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Don't worry about that. The point is, I played hero today."

"Good on you, Dean. That's really brave of you."

"Yeah. She was really nice. She paid me ten bucks for saving her. I tried not to take it, but she was just as stubborn as I was."

"Did you get her number?" Roman teased. His eyes were heavy as lead. They closed again out of his control.

"Nah. She had a guy with her. A guy who probably should have been with her the whole time, you know? Walking with her, keeping her safe? Kind of seemed like a douche bag to me."

"Did he?"

"Yeah. He was all up in my face like, who are you? What's going on? He saved you? What a little runt. AJ got him to calm down, though."

Roman's eyes drew open again like quick shutters. "What did you say her name was?"

"Oh, AJ. She said her boyfriend's name was Phil. I called him Phil the Greaser. You should have seen his hair, Roman. It was so shiny. I wanted to ask him if he was an advocate for L'Oreal or some shit like that."

AJ…and Phil? Surely that was just a coincidence…right?

"What?" Dean asked, brows knitting. "Do you know who I'm talking about?"

"What did she look like?"

"Brown hair, brown eyes. Wearing a dress. Kinda tall. Really cute. Her man friend was all tatted up. Looked way too skinny to be cruising downtown Colorado Springs alone at night. Not to mention, way too pretty."

Yep. That was them alright. Roman couldn't help it. He'd gotten over AJ long ago, but the thought of her whisked his stomach acid to the point of heartburn. And she was still with Phil? Why hadn't she cheated on him with someone else by now?

"You do know," Dean noted.

"She's my ex. And he's my ex-best friend. He and I used to be roommates. Then I caught them in his bed together when I came home early from work one night."

Dean's lips parted in surprise. "Oh, shit. I had no idea."

"You couldn't have known. I don't talk about it very often. It's okay."

"Should I have just left crazy homeless guy rob her ass? Maybe beat the grease out of Philly's hair?"

Roman's eyes fell closed again. "No. You did the right thing. I'm not completely heartless. And neither are you."

"This is true. Did she break your heart?"

"Yep." So did Phil, in his own miserable way.

"I'm sorry, Roman." He felt Dean's warm hand on his cheek.

"It's alright, Dean. I'm way better off now."

"I love you so much, Ro. You know that, right? You know I'd never, ever do anything like that to you?"

"I know. I believe it with all my heart. I love you too, Dean."

"The ten dollars is on the table. Use it wisely. And I'm getting paid next Friday. It's not much, but it should help."

"That's good, Dean."

"I'm keeping you awake, aren't I?"

"A little."

"Maybe this'll help." Dean cleared his throat, then his voice crooned with a warming song. " _Saying 'I love you' is not the words I want to hear from you. It's not that I want you not to say but if you only knew, how easy, it would be to show me how you feel_ …"

Roman's mind worshipped his lullaby. He went to sleep at last, smiling, with the whole world in his arms.


	10. Chapter 10

_**Greetings, readers! I hope you all had a warm, safe, merry holiday. I'm finally home from my vacation (I uploaded a notice about it, but I had to take it down because apparently that's against the rules and I'm a good girl like that. :P) But I'm back now, ready to bring you all sorts of updates! Starting here! Enjoy! Hope it was worth the wait~**_

* * *

Roman and Dean had both been asleep on the couch when Seth got home from work. He quietly prepared a sandwich as a late dinner and retired to his room alone for the rest of the night. It didn't take him long into a Pokemon battle on his DS to pass out. Long night at work, long _week_ at work…long _month_ at work…

Something had to change soon before he lost his mind.

He was awoken in the morning by gentle rapping on his door. "Come in," he mumbled only partially audibly, blanket still pulled up to his chin.

Seth heard someone creak his door open. Move onto his bed. Rub his leg through the comforter. He expected Dean, so what a surprise it was to hear Roman's low voice. "Sorry. I hate to wake you up, but I wanted to talk to you about something before we both got busy today."

Seth's eyes drew open. Sure enough it was Roman, dressed for work, perched on the foot of the bed.

"Morning," Seth said, mouth stretching into a great yawn. "What's up?"

"I need to ask you something."

"Alright." Seth shifted in bed. His brain was still trying to stir. He'd been having nice dreams until this not-so-bothersome interruption. So long as Roman didn't peep at him under the blanket, he was good. "Go for it."

Roman pressed his fingers together. "So, you know the issues we've been having with money lately."

"Mhmm…"

"I'm sorry, you're tired, and I don't want you to make any calls when you're not even fully aware of what's going on…"

"No, I'm fine. I'm good. See?" Seth pushed himself to sitting up. Proof of just how nice his dreams had been was still tucked away safely under his thick comforter. "Tell me. Money issues, right."

"Right." Roman rubbed his lips together. "Well…I was on craigslist, kind of looking for side work, you know, something small that could get us through this rough patch."

"Not a bad idea." Leave it to Roman to go the extra mile like that. What a guy. What a leader.

"And I found an ad asking for an assistant at a, um…publishing company."

Publishing company? Surely…surely he didn't mean…no, it couldn't be.

"It was posted by your dad. Er, your dad's company," Roman went on, confirming Seth's intuition. "He's looking to hire someone to work for him. Office stuff. Emails, paperwork, editing, that sort of gig."

"My dad wants to hire an assistant? Why? What happened to the other guy? Never mind, who cares." Seth was a bit more awake now, his mind active.

Roman's expression was tarnished with guilt. "It's good money, and the work seems easy enough, but I didn't want to accept anything until I got the chance to talk to you about it. Ask you how you felt about it."

"He offered you the job?"

"He said he could use me, but nothing's set in stone. Not until I talked to you."

Seth sighed. This wasn't anything he'd been expecting to wake up to, not in the slightest. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd spoken to his father, or his mother for that matter. He'd seen his brother Kane just once after Christmas, and that had been that. He thought he was done with that family. He hadn't even told his dad he'd gone back to school, something Seth knew Hunter would be proud of—yet still find a way to lambaste him for. " _You're trying to go back to school with money issues? What's wrong with you? Can't you think straight for once_?"

"The fact that you're talking to me about it," Seth spoke, "instead of going behind my back, or even taking it and _telling_ me you've got this spanking-new job no matter how I feel about it…well…that's really admirable of you, Roman."

Roman half-smiled. "I just figured, I knew you've had—you _have_ —a lot of issues with your dad, and to work for him without your consent…it felt dirty."

"You don't need my consent, Roman. Job's a job. If you feel this is how we get out of this hole, then go for it."

"You mean that?"

"Yeah. If it means I don't have to work fifty hour weeks anymore." Seth smiled.

Roman didn't. "You're not happy about it."

"Well, I'm not happy about him. I don't like my dad. I love him 'cause he's my dad and all, but I have no respect for him, especially after all that crap he said about Dean on Christmas Eve. But he likes you. And I like you. And I trust you not to turn into him while working under his wing."

"Trust me. There's nothing personal about this. It's strictly business."

"I say go for it. Make that cash. He's a rich bastard. He'll pay you well, knowing how much he worships you."

"Seth, I can always keep looking—"

"Roman, we don't have a lot of time to keep looking. Things are only going to get worse for us if we sit on our asses and wait for the 'perfect' way to solve all our financial problems. Take the job. Let me work on my issues with my dad; that's between him and me. I'm really happy that you came to me about it first, because it's proof you respect me and care about my feelings. But this isn't the time to get sappy or petty or spiteful. This is a really low point for the family, and we kind of need whatever we can take. This is a good opportunity, regardless of how I feel."

Roman assimilated everything Seth had said. Mulled over it. Then reacted.

"You're sure."

"Absolutely." Seth couldn't have been more sincere.

"Alright. I'll take it. I'm hoping he can find a way to have me work around my hectic schedule."

"I know he will. He'll take care of you. He's probably ecstatic about having you."

Roman patted his leg. "You're a good guy, Seth Rollins."

"So are you, Roman. So are you."

"You work today?"

"Yep. Mid-shift. Eleven to four."

"You better get moving then, bro. It's almost ten."

"Shit." Seth rolled out of bed. His pants weren't so tight anymore. Conversing about his father had helped. "I take it you do, too? Or are you just dressed up all nice in slacks for a date?"

Roman smiled. "I wish. No, I work today, and Dean does, too. But he and I are going to his brother's house tonight for dinner."

"That so?"

"Yeah. He's slowly working Cesaro into the madness that is his Colorado life. I'm guessing you haven't met him yet?"

"Nope." Seth moved towards his closet, not wanting to undress quite yet. Not in front of Roman.

"I'm sure you will. It'll be a special night, just you and him and Dean."

"First comes meeting the boyfriend, though. That's way more special than meeting the best friend."

"Don't make me feel all guilty and despondent before work, Rollins."

"Oh, I will." Seth beamed at him. "Nah, you guys go and have fun tonight. I'll think of something to do. Probably school related because I'm so lame."

"I'm proud of you for taking your education seriously."

"Things change when I know what I want to do with my life, and actually enjoy it."

"And when you're the one actually paying for the courses."

"True." Seth laughed.

Another knock on the door. Dean poked his head into the room. "Hey, sorry to interrupt what's probably a tender, touchin' moment, but we have a visitor." His eyes were on Seth.

"Who?" Roman asked. Seth hadn't even heard the doorbell buzzer.

"Reigns! Get your ass out here and hug me."

Seth's heart lifted to his throat. Was that Randy?

Dean was smirking now. No wonder he had that look to him.

Roman followed Dean out of the room and greeted Randy. Seth waited for a moment, hurrying to get dressed, not wanting to dash into the living room and risk tripping over himself in front of Randy. He yanked a shirt off a hanger and nearly tripped over himself anyway, jumping into his work pants. Then he brushed his hair with his fingers, smoothed out the fabric of his shirt, tugged the door wide open, and sauntered into the living room as casually as he could pass for. _Oh, hi, Randy. Didn't know you were here. Yeah, how's it goin'? Good to see you again so soon…after waking up from a dream all about you_.

"Came by to give you this," Randy said, handing a folded shirt over to Roman. "I cleaned it and everything. Sister even let me use her iron on it. Looks crisp. Good as new."

"Thanks. I, uh, didn't even know you had it." Roman chuckled.

"I had a little barbecue mishap, so I stole one of your shirts to wear to Zodiac."

Dean, standing in the kitchen with a coffee cup in hand, wouldn't stop grinning in Seth's direction. Seth wanted to slap him as badly as he wanted to take Dean into his arms and squeal over the surprise visit of his crush.

Randy's brown eyes moved to Seth, regarding him affectionately. "How you doin', man? You doin' alright?"

"Another day in paradise," Seth answered, referring to the golden tire stitches on his shirt just beneath the space for his name tag.

"Ah, fuck work. Call in sick and take some time for yourself."

"Quit being such a bad influence on him," Roman said, giggling.

"You know I'm just playin'. Gotta pay them bills somehow."

 _Somehow_ , Seth thought. He figured Roman was thinking the same thing.

"What about you?" Roman asked, beating Seth to the question. "You got any fun plans for your Saturday?"

"Nah. Got the day off of work, though."

"Nothing going on with Nikki or Brie Bella?"

Brie. Seth hadn't thought of her yet today. His phone was still in his room, plugged into the charger. He wanted to check it for messages, not that she'd texted him yet. Still. It was bound to happen _sometime_ , right?

"Nah," Randy answered. "She and Brie are in Denver today. They've got some concert up there tonight. One Direction or some shit like that? I told her no, ain't my scene. She said good, because now she can have Harry Styles all to herself. Whoever that is."

Seth processed the information. Randy would be alone tonight. He'd be alone tonight, with Roman and Dean gone…

"So you're saying you're available," Dean said after a slurp of sweetened coffee.

 _Dammit, Dean, let me instigate. I don't need your help_. Yet perhaps Seth would have continued to stand there in silence, awestruck at Randy Orton there in his tight jeans and baggy shirt, until Randy left and Seth was stuck with zero potential.

"Yeah? I am, I guess. Why? You guys got something going on?" Randy asked.

"Dean and Roman are going to dinner tonight," Seth interjected. _Thanks for the push, Dean. I can take it from here_. "So it's just me here by myself."

"Ah. Unacceptable for a Saturday night, my dude. We should hang out."

 _Yes_! Seth celebrated inwardly. Dean beamed, proud of his best friend.

"What time are you off work?" Randy asked.

"Four."

"Alright. Let me know when you get home. I'll swing by and we can work something out."

"Sure."

"You got my number? You can text me."

"Not yet. Hang on, let me get my phone…"

Seth disappeared to his room to fetch the device. No texts. He returned to the living room with an empty contact pulled up for Randy's number. Was this for real? As far as Seth was concerned, a night just the two of them playing video games or watching a movie would suffice. _So much for finding a way to get over this_ …

"He'll see you then," Dean answered for Seth. "And he's _pretty_ excited about it."

 _I'll slap you_.

"I'm looking forward to it," Randy said.

 _Never mind, I love you, Ambrose_.

After Randy left, Seth was still on a cloud. He cavorted into the kitchen on nimble feet. It didn't take looking at Roman to know he was staring at Seth.

"You wanna tell me what that was all about?" Roman asked.

"Oh, it's not _my_ business to disclose," Dean said.

"Oh, _now_ it's not your business," Seth voiced aloud, but he was smiling.

"Seth, are you…are you into Randy?" Roman quizzed.

"Maybe a little," Seth revealed, timid.

"Don't you think they'd make a cute couple?" Dean asked.

"Well…" Roman started. "I mean, that's nice and all, but Seth, you know he's—"

"I know, Roman," Seth interjected. "I know. You don't need to remind me."

"Sorry." Roman shrugged one shoulder.

"I'm just going to enjoy it for what it is. Yeah, he makes me feel…out of my element. In the best way possible. But he's growing on me as a good friend. I can appreciate that. We have fun together."

"I'm glad you're not letting it get you down, brother."

 _I'm doing my best_.

Seth left for work before Roman and Dean. He wished them a good time at Cesaro's house. As predicted, his shift dragged on and on and on. It was Saturday afternoon, business was flourishing and customers came in copious amounts, yet Seth found himself staring at the clock more often than he did on a normal day. The busy shift did not make the day go by fast. It was hell.

At least it was the mid-shift, and Seth could clock out on time at four o'clock instead of staying an extra hour or so to close up shop.

He texted Randy as soon as he had access to his phone. **_[I'm off work. Heading home now. Gotta get my stank ass in the shower before u come over ok?]_**

The reply came on the drive home. Seth read it over in the parking lot. He couldn't help but smile. His very first text from Randy.

 ** _[Ur ass gonna be stank no matter what. ;) See u soon.]_**

Seth kept his shower short. His hair was growing out long, and the blonde patch in his mane was starting to fade. The brunette was dominate in his locks. He wondered if it was worth it to dye it again. How many people in his life actually liked his crazy hair.

Randy was on his way, and he had to get ready. He didn't stress too long over what to wear. He'd been wanting to show off his black and red Disturbed shirt ever since he discovered Randy was a fan of the band.

As he brushed out his drying hair and dabbed a bit of cologne behind his ears, his phone buzzed. Another text? From him? Seth's breath latched in his throat as he picked up the device.

It was from an unknown number, but the message gave away the sender.

 ** _[I PASSED MY BIOLOGY TEST! Grades were posted on the website this morning. 94%! *happy dance* Nikki and I headed up to Denver to shop for a bit before a concert tonight. We're gonna see One Direction. You probably don't like them, but I s2G Liam Payne is my everything. Maybe you and I can hang out when I'm back in the city? It's Brie btw. Don't be confused. ;) Text me back when you can!]_**

Seth loved how he could read the words in her exact voice, like she was speaking to him directly instead of virtually.

 ** _[Congrats, Brie. I trust that u busted ur butt over that test, and u earned that grade. Have fun tonight, blow Liam a kiss for me, and I'll see u around.]_**

Someone—Seth was certain he knew who—pounded on the door.

Heart ramming into his ribs, Seth gave himself one more inspection in the bathroom mirror, then crossed the floor and opened the door with a slight quiver in his hand.

Randy Orton still managed to catch him off guard with that devilish smile. "'Sup?"

"Gas prices?" Seth tried.

Randy hollered laughing. "That's a good one." He moved past Seth in the doorway.

"So," Seth said, clearing his throat. "What did you have in mind for tonight? Wanna head out somewhere, or just chill here? Either way works for me."

"Well, I think we're two studs who look way too good to stay in. Love your shirt, dog."

Seth beamed. "Thanks. I love Disturbed."

"Same. I saw them live a few years ago."

"No way!" Seth was ridden with envy.

"Yup. Saw 'em on their Asylum tour in Corpus Christi. Drove fifteen hours with my sister for that concert. It was worth it."

"You're so lucky, dude. I haven't seen them live yet."

"It's a fantastic experience. We need to catch them if they ever come up to Denver or something. But anyway! Enough playing fanboy. Did you wanna head out anywhere in particular?"

Seth had been fantasizing about what he'd wanted to do with Randy all day. Only part of the fantasy depicted _actually_ going out. "Well, there's a couple of bars in town we could hit up. We could catch a movie…" He racked his brain for a third suggestion. Movie theaters weren't the greatest place to socialize. "There's also that bowling alley up north, by Summit Community College."

"Bowling?" Randy asked, intrigued.

"Yeah. It's a decent place. Not too sketchy, but not a kids' zone since there's a bar."

"There's a bar?"

"Yep."

Randy clapped his hands together, then lifted his arms in the air. "Sold."

Seth laughed. "Am I gonna drag your ass out of there again tonight while you're crooning Neil Diamond?"

"Not this time. If I'm gonna be a drunk, singing bastard again, I'll be rocking Sinatra or something."

"Well, let's hope it doesn't come to that."

Though Seth certainly wouldn't have minded if it did. If it meant Randy got to spend the night again.

* * *

Lightning Bowling Alley was swarming mostly with older men and their dames, the air tinged with smoke, the aura relaxed and lively with roaring laughter, smashing pins and generic pop blasting through speakers on the ceiling. Randy paid for the alley, and Seth offered to buy the drinks. He added an order of nachos to the beer pitchers, and he carried them steadily to a table Randy had claimed.

"You know what the worst part about bowling is?" Randy asked.

"That you're about to get licked?" Seth guessed with half a smile. _Maybe I should have used different slang_.

But Randy didn't read it any differently than Seth meant. "Oh yeah? You think you're gonna kick my ass in here tonight?"

"Enjoy that chair while you can, dude, 'cause your ass is gonna be too sore to sit on later on." _God. I'm just full of good ones tonight. He's gonna think I'm sick_.

"Well, bring it on, little buddy! I hope you can walk as nicely as you talk." Randy used his big toes to rake his shoes off his feet. "But I was gonna say the shoes. Look how hideous these things are." He moved his socked feet onto the table, on the opposite end from the food, as he fiddled with the tight knots on the brown and orange bowling shoes. "I feel like these are the corporate sponsors for the walk of shame."

Seth was paying no mind to the shoes or Randy's quips. His breathing had wobbled unsteady. Randy's feet were _model_ —size elevens, straight toes between his silky black socks. Seth had recognized his foot fetish when he was a teenager, but it had never really applied to his life, in any way he'd ever discerned. There weren't a lot of guys sticking their feet in Seth's face. He'd seen Dean's feet plenty of times. He'd rubbed them. He'd probably tickled them. But they didn't turn him on, because Dean was more like a brother to him now, not to mentioned they were calloused and dry with stubby nails, much like his hands. Seth was picky about his fetish.

But Randy? Randy fit the bill.

Even black socks did something to Seth that made him have to sit down and concentrate on _not_ getting aroused in this bowling alley. It didn't help that Randy couldn't seem to unfasten the knots on the bowling shoes quick enough, leaving his feet on the table—in Seth's view—for far too long. Seth almost offered to do it himself when Randy finally announced, "Ah, there we go."

The repulsive "walk of shame" shoes hid away Randy's sexy, sexy soles. Seth could breathe again.

"Ladies first," Randy said, gesturing towards the lane. Ten pins were situated at the very end.

Seth just simpered at him. He didn't have to say a word. He'd let his skills speak for him.

He lifted a heavy purple bowling ball into his hand and stared out at the pins. He positioned himself correctly from head to toe, poked his tongue through the very end of his lips, strode forward, and pitched the ball with a grunt. It spiraled down the lane in an undeviating path, colliding with the pins all at once in a blink. Not one was left standing.

Satisfied, he twisted around to face Randy, whose bottom lip jutted out over his chin. "Huh. You're not too bad at this."

Seth beamed. "It's one of my bizarre hidden talents."

"Really? All I have going for me there is my ability to juggle devil sticks."

"Hmm, riveting. Let's see you bowl."

Randy swiped his thumb over his nose, then gathered a bowling ball much heavier than the one Seth had used. He'd learned over the years size mattered here: scoring high with a heavy ball was impressive enough, but he performed much better with a lighter sphere. Randy wanted to be a show-off and select the heaviest ball, which probably wouldn't work out well for him.

Sure enough, no sooner had he ejected the ball from hold than it was coasting off to the right, straight into the gutter.

Seth stifled laughter.

"Yeah, yeah, yuck it up," Randy told him. "We'll see who's laughing once I get my come-from-behind victory."

Randy's second attempt was a bit more successful. He managed to knock down two pins after a gentle roll forward.

"Shit," Randy said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Seth didn't say anything. All he could hope was Randy wasn't a sore loser.

Seth retrieved his ball. Took his stance again. His tongue poked out. He rolled the orb down the lane. All ten pins clanked against the slick flooring.

Randy was shaking his head. He took a swig of beer straight from the pitcher. "Well, then. Guess I'm fucked."

"Want me to tone it down a bit?"

"Nah, dude. You may take me down in bowling, but you can't take away my pride."

But Seth felt he was stripping that away, too, one fine layer at a time. They bowled for a couple of hours, Seth leading by nearly two-hundred points. He finished the game with two-hundred and twenty, while Randy was nowhere near breaking a hundred.

"Alright, I give up," Randy said, throwing his hands into the air. "You win. Stop hurting my pride. _No mas, no mas_."

Seth giggled. He couldn't help but feel a little bad for smoking Randy in the game. Even with half a pitcher of crappy beer in his system.

"I can show you the proper stance, if you want," Seth said, his heart fluttering at the prospect. His hands on Randy, touching him, moving him into the correct position…

"Eh, I'd probably find a way to mess it up too. Especially cause I'm a little woozy."

"Beer?"

"Yeah." Randy reached a tottery hand towards the pitcher.

"Just be careful, or else you'll end up waking up on my couch again," Seth said. He blabbed a lie: "We don't want that."

"We don't?" Randy asked, brow curving above his eye.

Seth was flustered. "W-well, I mean, I didn't know what you were up for. I mean, my place is open, by all means, but I'm not about to interpose if you have anything else going on tonight or tomorrow."

Randy cracked a cocky grin. "Believe it or not, I'm not partying it up all day and all night. As much as I wish that was the life. I tend to know when enough is enough."

Seth had no idea what he meant by that, but he nodded like he understood. Perhaps it was the beer taking over.

"You're dishy, Seth, you know that?"

Seth blinked at the unknown word. "Dishy?"

"Yeah, you know. Cute. Adorable."

It came as a surprise. _Is he seriously calling me cute and adorable? Oh my God. Be cool, be cool_. "Um." Seth cleared his throat, gaze sinking to the carpet. Randy's hideous shoes only reminded Seth of what beauty existed underneath them. "I'm not sure if I should be flattered or embarrassed."

"Oh, don't worry. I'm not trying to call you weak or anything. You're just…you've got this _decent_ vibe about you. It's different than I'm used to seeing, especially against someone like me. It's like, you can take a SnakeBite down like a champ, but you're not the type to get smashed every night. You're the type to take a cute chick out for a drink without asking her back to your place."

Seth's heart was whirring like a motor now. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, I heard. Sly dog." Randy tapped Seth's shoulder with his fist. "Girls tell each other everything, and Nikki's a gossip."

"Ah." Seth's head bobbed. "Well, yeah. It was fun. She's great."

"She is. And if she wasn't leaving, I'd say go for it."

"Well, I don't know for _sure_ if she's leaving yet. She still needs to get her acceptance letter."

"Oh, she will. You don't know her like I know her. She's a genius. She'll get into any school she wants, guaranteed."

Seth bit his lip. Why did it hurt so much to know she had such a bright future ahead of her? Everything she ever wanted? He took a sip of beer, then poured him and Randy another glass.

"But anyway," Randy said, sensing Seth's shift in mood. "You don't get a lot of girls like Brie Bella. And you don't get a lot of guys like you, neither. So don't resort to shit for anyone, you hear me? You stay true to you."

"You've got it." Seth swallowed hard. His heart was trying to tell him Randy was essentially saying, _I like you for you_. He wasn't hearing it on the outside, but rather within. "Want anymore to drink?" Seth raised the pitcher which was nearing empty.

"Shit, man, are you trying to get me wasted?" Randy laughed, yet he accepted the offer. "Trying to take advantage of me."

"Oh, not even you, man. Of your car. I wanna drive that thing again."

"You're gonna have to at this point."

It was a small victory for Seth. It hadn't been his intention, not any conscious one, anyway. "Am I actually getting your address this time, or…?" The _or_ was eerie. A lingering potential for this night to go any direction fate decided.

"Nope. Can't remember it right now, matter of fact."

"You lying to me?" Seth prayed he wasn't.

"You're not comfortable enough to invite me over on your own, so yeah, I'm lying so that you'll take me home, but not flat-out inviting myself over like a dick. Like I said. You're dishy."

Seth truly couldn't believe what he was hearing at this point. Randy was being so straight with him...in a curiously non-straight manner. Was this flirting? He couldn't be, could it? There was no way...

He needed so badly to play it off slick, before he lost control and said something he couldn't take back if he traded his soul for it. "Dishy. There's one I've never heard before. What's next? Boxy? Plate-y?"

"You're not boxy, that's for sure. And what the hell's plate-y supposed to mean?"

Seth pondered their new word with a finger to his lips. "Amazing at bowling."

"Then you're _definitely_ plate-y." Randy took a final drink of beer, then stood up. His posture was unbalanced, and Seth took his arm in the maternal way he was accustomed to with Dean. He wasn't aware of just how much he liked touching Randy until Randy noted aloud, "Even taking care of drunk old me on the way out. You're a saint."

"Nope, I'm an asshole. This is just for the car, remember?"

"Right," Randy said, wincing as a winter air tore at them outside the bowling alley. Seth was much too warmed by just Randy's touched to pay it any mind. "Whatever you say, Seth."

* * *

 _ **Next chapter we get to hear about Dean and Roman's time at Cesaro's house. Things don't go as swimmingly as they hope. And we need to figure out what happens when Seth takes Randy home again, right? ;) Ah, so much coming up, so much further for this story to go! I have so many ideas darting about in my head for this project, and I can't wait to bring them all to you!**_

 _ **Review? :)**_


	11. Chapter 11

_**Disclaimer: This chapter drips sap with a dash of foreboding. Hearts be warned. O:)**_

 _ **Also, apologies for the extent. This one's longer than most chapters. Hope it's worthy~**_

* * *

"I gotta tell you about something."

Dean glanced over at Roman from the passenger's seat. Roman beat him to turning the rock music down. "Lay it on me."

"You know how money's tight right now?"

Ah. This talk, at last. "I'm aware."

"Well, Seth's dad is offering me a position as an assistant."

 _That_ , Dean hadn't been expecting. "An assistant? Like…around the house, or…?"

"A personal assistant for some at-home work stuff. And I'm gonna meet up with him this week to discuss it."

"You are?"

"Don't worry, I already talked to Seth about it."

"Well, no, what I meant was, are you doing this, like, _instead_ of Java Central?"

"Oh, no. I'll be working both positions, since my hours at the coffeehouse have been knocked down."

"Oh, okay. Good. Even if they're gypping you on hours, I like you there."

"I do, too, and I really don't want to leave, but they've gotta treat me as a better employee if they want me to stick around."

"What did Seth say?"

"He's fine with it. So he says. I don't know, I _want_ to believe him, but part of me thinks it might just be an act, for my sake."

"Even if he does have an issue with it, he'll get over it. This is good for us. Mr. and Mrs. Rollins are stupid rich. A job opportunity under them would be favorable in our circumstances. I don't know anything about being wealthy, but I wrote the book on poverty, and we're not going anywhere near that border."

"Of course we're not. We'll be fine."

"And Seth's parents are good people. I know Seth has had issues with them in the past, but they're a _lot_ better than my parents. They were always really nice to me when I came over."

Roman looked uneasy. Had Dean said something wrong?

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Come on. I like to know what you're thinking."

"It's just…Seth's parents…" Roman shoved a breath through teeth Dean hadn't realized were gritted. "It's a complicated situation. I just need to earn my pay and get us out of this hole. We'll make it through. I know we will. Just being here is a little disheartening."

Dean didn't want Roman to get frustrated just before dinner at Cesaro's house, and if there was anything that could really afflict him, it was money talk. Cesaro's house was still about fifteen minutes away. Dean had just that much time to work him back into peace of mind. _No problem_.

He didn't bother unfastening his seatbelt because he never wore the thing. Too constricting. Too uncomfortable. Dean pressed himself flat against the seat as best as he could and slithered until his head was in Roman's lap. His fingers crawled over Roman's zipper.

Roman pulled a breath in. "Dean…"

"I know. This is sexy as hell. Just watch the road."

"This is crazy dangerous."

"No, it's not. Roads are fine, you're not speeding and it's dark out. Nobody can see. Plus, you want this. I can tell."

Roman provided no additional objections.

Dean freed Roman's enlarging cock from the form-fitting denims and dressed the entire muscle with his mouth. Roman's entire form went stiff as his dick, and Dean felt a swelling of his breaths, but he was able to maintain solid control over the car. Dean's familiarity with Roman's titillation, his weak spots and Dean's trained tongue patterns, allowed him to work his man over in no time. Roman happened to be at a red light when the sensation was too much for his body to handle anymore, and Dean made sure there was no trace of the dirty, sensual act by swallowing every drop of evidence.

Roman was trembling slightly, and he pushed hair from his eyes over a sweating forehead as Dean sat up in his seat again and dragged a thumb over his lips. "You taste amazing, babe. Like…salted coconut milk."

"I've never heard that before," Roman laughed through a great sigh. "I taste pretty unique."

"You taste _amazing_ ," Dean said again.

Roman towed Dean over to him with an arm around his neck and kissed his hair. "I love you so much. You make me so happy."

"You're only using me for sex, admit it," Dean mock-sobbed.

"Trust me. It's a sweet, sweet, _sweet_ bonus."

Roman developed a decent sense of composure by the time he pulled up to the address his GPS certified as their destination. Roman reached into the backseat and grabbed the paper bag holding the wine they'd picked up on the way here. It was the least Dean could do for the gracious invitation extended by his older brother. He popped the trunk open, and Dean gathered his guitar case. Caroline was still damaged, but maybe his guitar-junkie brother could save the day.

Roman walked Dean hand-in-hand to the front door of the house, but Dean let his hand go when Roman pressed the doorbell. He didn't want to act like a couple with Roman in _any_ form in front of the girls. Their young brains had probably yet to process and accept PDA of heterosexual couples, let alone two men.

Cesaro answered the door with Julia in his muscular arm, her head on his shoulder and her little legs bestriding his ribcage. Dean smiled at her.

"Hi, Julia," he said, voice singsong.

With a bashful smile of her own, she turned her head and faced away from him.

"Oh!" he cried, placing a hand over his heart in artificial offense. "You're just gonna snub me, little girl, is that it?"

"Why are you being shy now?" Cesaro said to her, rocking her in his hold. "Huh?"

The little girl buried her head into her daddy's shoulder. Cesaro kissed her head, then set her on the floor. She scurried off down the foyer. "She and Alicia have been excited about this all day. Every half-hour they were asking me, 'When's Uncle Dean coming? Is he here yet? When's Uncle Dean coming?'"

Dean was moved. "Really?"

"Indeed. Come on in, boys." Cesaro closed the door behind them, locking it securely, then shaking Roman's hand. "Hey there, Roman. Good to see you again."

"Hi, Cesaro. Thanks for having us."

"Hey, not a problem. I feel it's overdue."

"We brought you something," Dean said, handing over the alcohol.

"Ah, excellent," Cesaro said. "Moscato D'Asti. Good choice."

"It's the only wine Dean can really stand," Roman remarked.

"Yeah, makes sense. I know this guy's got a killer sweet tooth." Cesaro situated the bottle of wine under his arms, then his eyes went to the guitar case. "You brought Caroline! Awesome. I was hoping we could jam or something tonight."

"Yeah, she's kind of fractured at the moment," Dean said. "Nothing too bad. Just a couple of chips."

"Oh no! Well, don't worry about it. I've got a repair kit."

"I figured you might. You're my hero." Dean smiled at him.

"I'll show you guys my bunker after dinner. It's actually just about ready. Your timing's impeccable."

Dean and Roman left their shoes by the front door and followed Cesaro down the entrance hall. For a single man with two children on occasion, he had a nice home. Decorated bookshelves, unblemished furniture, walls lined with straight picture frames, a flatscreen in the living room. He rounded a corner into a spacious kitchen.

Young Alicia stood with her sister near the polished dining room table across the area. At the sight of Dean, she threw her hands together and proclaimed, " _Uncle Dean_!" She charged at him, and Dean squatted down, bracing for the tiny tackle.

Her sister's enthusiasm inspired Julia to follow suit, and she trotted on socked feet over the tile kitchen towards him. He seized Alicia, then waited for Julia to make her way over. Both girls had tousled mops of hair, brunette and curly and seemingly impossible to brush in the mornings. Dean lifted both girls into his arm and raised to his feet.

"Hey, girls!" he said. "I'm so glad you remember me."

"Of course, whaddya think?" Alicia asked, her shrill voice loud and wonderful in her uncle's ear.

"Sassy like her daddy. I like it." He gave each girl a kiss on the forehead, then lowered them to the floor.

"Who's this?" Alicia asked, clinging to Dean's leg in a sudden crest of timidity. Julia imitated her and grabbed Dean's other leg.

"This is my friend Roman," Dean said. _Love of my life. Man of my dreams. Yin to my yang._ "Roman, these are my little rug rats, Alicia and Julia."

" _Your_ rug rats?" Cesaro teased, meandering towards the stovetop loaded with their dinner.

Roman hunched to his knees. "Now, Dean didn't tell me we were meeting princesses tonight. If he had, I would have worn something _much_ nicer."

Alicia's face reddened as she giggled uncontrollably. Roman took her little hand in his own and kissed the top. "Your majesty."

Julia thrust her fist at Roman next, wanting the same treatment.

" _Your_ majesty," Roman said with a smile, kissing her hand.

"Like I said," Dean said. "Sassy."

"I'm honored."

"Uncle Dean, I made the macaroni all by myself!" Alicia declared, her arms still fastened around his calf.

"Did you, now?" Dean asked.

"Daddy boiled the water, and Alicia poured in the noodles and stirred the cheese and milk in," Cesaro said. "She did a good job."

Dean tried to turn around, and the girls were hysterical with laughter as he trudged one leg at a time with them still in tow. "Looks like I'm not going anywhere in a hurry."

"Good!" Alicia said.

"Good!" Julia echoed.

"Girls, would you please set the table while I get everything finished up here?" Cesaro said in more of a polite statement than a question.

The dishes were stacked on the counter. Alicia and Julia obeyed, spreading them out to give each seat at the long oak table a plate, a fork, a knife, a napkin, and a cup.

"The macaroni and chicken nuggets are for them," Cesaro explained to Roman and Dean. "I've been cooking pot roast all afternoon for us. With fried corn, glazed carrots, and garlic mashed potatoes."

"Just like Mom used to make," Dean praised him. "You know. If Mom knew how to cook."

Cesaro smiled.

"Can we help you with anything?" Roman asked.

"Well, if you wouldn't mind getting the wine glasses from that high shelf up there, that'd be awesome. Thank you, Roman."

Roman did so, and he poured three glasses of wine for the adults.

"Can I have some of that?" Alicia asked.

"No, you don't want this," Dean said. "It's gross. It's a grown-up drink."

"If it's gross, why are you drinking it?"

"Because grown-ups are under the impression it's a solution to all life's problems."

She blinked at him, cocking her head. "Huh?"

"Quit corrupting my kid," Cesaro laughed.

"She's already corrupted, bro," Dean said. "Have you heard the mouth on her? Such sauce."

"I blame her mother."

"Sure. Her _mother_ ," Dean quipped. " _Right_."

Cesaro served the girls first, then loaded glass plates with the country-style dinner. Roman and Dean took seats at the table next to one another. The girls sat across from them, and Cesaro sat at the head of the table.

"A seat fit for a king," Dean said.

"So, girls," Cesaro said. "Why don't you tell Uncle Dean and Mr. Roman about school?"

"Right now, we're learning cursive," Alicia revealed.

"Cursive? Now there's a lost art," Dean said, spearing a hunk of roast on his fork.

"I didn't even know they still taught it," Roman concurred.

"What about you, Thing Two?" Dean asked. "What are you learning in school?"

"Um, um, yesterday, we learned how a worm turns into a _butterfwy_ ," Julia replied, her voice much softer than her sister's.

" _Caterpillars_ turn into butterflies," Alicia said, annoyed. "Not _worms_."

"Right. Caterpiwars."

"Say it like this, Jules," Cesaro said. "Cater _pill_ ars."

"Cater _pill_ wars."

"You're getting there."

Dean laughed under his breath. The girls were precious. He hadn't seen them many a time in his life. Evidently they knew enough about him to recognize him as family.

But they didn't know enough about him.

He didn't want them to know the truth.

Hell, he was hesitant about _Roman_ knowing the truth. Even about things Dean had yet to reveal about his bastardized past. Especially _The Secret_. Something only one soul on the planet knew about besides Dean, and that was Cesaro, and only because he'd stumbled across it by accident—or by chance. Not one else knew. Not Roman. Not even Seth.

"What did you girls do all day?" Dean asked, dismissing his inner self-destructive musings.

"We rode our bikes down the street," Alicia said. "Since it was good weather outside."

"Oh, man, I can't even remember the last time I rode a bike," Dean said. "I bet you anything I forgot how by now."

"It's easy!" Alicia cried. The joke went over her head, but Dean was amused anyhow. "Julia and I can teach you."

"Will you ride bikes with us sometime, Uncle Dean?" Julia asked, putting a hand over her mouth.

"I'd love to, girls."

"Yay!" Alicia cheered.

"Yay!" Julia resonated.

"But you have to ride Daddy's bike, because you're too big for mine."

"Would my big ol' booty squish your bike?" Dean said, sending the girls into another fit of laughter.

" _Big ol' booty! Big ol' booty_!" the girls chanted together.

"Alright, alright, settle down," Cesaro said, but he was chuckling, too. "He sure fits the bill for fun uncle, doesn't he, girls?"

"Very fatherly," Roman said, nodding. Dean read his look. He was impressed, turned on by Dean's skilled behavior with children. He'd heard that about himself a couple of times. Not that he was around kids much. Not that he was a "kid" kind of guy.

"Are you girls finished eating?" Cesaro asked.

"All done!" Alicia said with a mouthful of chewed white meat.

"Me too!" Julia declared.

"Jules, you didn't even touch your macaroni," her dad stated.

"I don't want to eat macaroni."

"You told me this morning you wanted macaroni for dinner tonight."

"I changed my mind." Julia tucked her face away behind her hands. Each minuscule fingernail was daubed with chipping purple polish.

"Alicia, did you like your macaroni?" Cesaro asked, thinking with strategy.

"I did!" Alicia said.

"See, Alicia likes _her_ macaroni and cheese."

Julia peeped at her near-full plate through her fingers. Then she reclaimed her plastic spoon and gobbled down the clump of sticky noodles.

"Finish up and go wash your hands, please," Cesaro told them. "Then do you girls want to choose a game to play with Dean and Mr. Roman? Or pick a movie to watch?"

"Let's watch a movie!" Alicia said, leaping on her toes at the idea, nearly sending her dirty silverware flying off her plate.

"Yeah, let's watch a movie! Let's watch _Frozen_!" her sister concurred.

"Oh, God," Dean said, hanging his head back. "I can't escape that movie, even two years later."

"I _love_ Frozen. It's my favorite movie," Alicia said, hands on her hips once they were free of her dishes.

"I wove Owaf!" Julia said.

"O _laf_."

" _O_ laf."

"That's better."

"They're obsessed," Cesaro said. "It took five or six months before rides to school everyday weren't soundtracked by that Idina Menzel song."

"My condolences." He turned to Roman. "Have you seen it?"

"I saw it once with my ex. I didn't hate it, but I didn't see the huge whopping deal about it."

"Tell me about it."

"Come watch _Frozen_ with us, Uncle Dean," Alicia said, tugging weakly on his arm in a way she considered very strong.

"Don't you girls wanna watch _anything_ else?" Dean asked. "Anything in the whole wide world else?"

"Nope! _Frozen! Frozen_!"

" _Frozen! Frozen! Frozen_!" Julia joined in the rally.

"Alright, _fine_ ," Dean said, caving.

" _Yay_!"

"You're lucky I have a weakness for big, pretty brown eyes." Dean bopped Alicia on the nose, then looked to Roman to further corroborate this particular weakness. Roman's eyes were the most beautiful ones he'd ever looked into. "Sass _and_ stubbornness. I'm starting to see a little bit of me in them."

Cesaro cooked popcorn and handed Roman and Dean a couple of sodas. The rest of the wine, they'd save for later after the girls went to sleep. It wouldn't be anytime soon, Dean imagined, as no sooner were the girls planted on the couch in front of the television than were they on their feet again, dancing to the very first song that didn't even have much rhythm to it. Their energy levels were striking.

Dean sat beside Roman, having to combat the desire to lean against him, cuddle his Superman, kiss his fingers and trail the smooches up his arm and onto his neck. Their knees were touching, and that alone was torture—Dean craved more. But he wouldn't submit to lust in front of the girls. He had far more respect for Cesaro and the girls than that.

During Prince Hans and Anna's song, the girls were dancing again and singing along. "Sing with us, Mr. Roman! Sing with us, Uncle Dean!" Alicia urged as the chorus neared.

"Alright, let's see if I remember this…" Dean said. His arms were slung over the back of the couch. From here he could at least stroke the ends of Roman's gorgeous jet-black mane.

" _Love is an open_ …" Alicia and Julia began.

" _Spore_!" Dean cried out.

"NO!" the girls said, on their knees and back up again, giggling. " _Love is an open_ …"

" _Bore_!"

"NO! _Love is an open_ …"

" _Chore_!"

" _With you, with you, with you, with you, love is an open_ …"

" _Door_ ," Dean sang correctly at last. He caught Roman smiling at him, and his heart warmed. The movie was cheeky and the songs irritating, but it made the girls happy, and Dean making the girls happy seemed to make Roman _very_ happy. Cesaro was especially amused. Dean didn't care. He was having fun. By the end of the song he was on his feet, twirling the girls to the final words of the song.

At "Let It Go", his resentment of the flick was a bit more disclosed. He just sat on the couch listening to the girls' rendition, waiting for it to be over even before it began.

"Come on," Roman said, nudging his shoulder. "If there was an acoustic version of this song, you'd be all over it."

"Oh, there is," Cesaro said.

"Man has his limits," Dean said. "There's very little I can't and won't play—this is one of them."

" _Someone_ learned to play it at a Frozen-themed birthday party last fall."

"That just makes you a great father. My kids wouldn't be so lucky. The only _let it go_ they'd get from me is when I tell them no and they cry when I don't change my mind."

"I fear for your kids," Roman teased. "They're going to grow up to be defiant and resilient, just like you."

"Actually, I'm not really wanting kids."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I don't know. I just…" There was a lengthy backstory to it, one Dean wasn't willing to get into here. He probably shouldn't have even brought up the simple fact he didn't want kids here tonight. "I don't know. Never been an interest of mine."

"Oh."

Dean hoped he hadn't broken Roman's heart. The disappointment was hard to miss. Maybe Roman wanted children. Roman would have been an incredible father.

Dean just didn't see himself fitting such a role. Not like his brother. Not like his boyfriend.

He preferred "fun uncle."

Alicia allowed Julia to present Olaf's song solo, which she was reluctant to do alone until Alicia sang the first verse with her, then let Julia perform the chorus. This was met with a standing ovation, and she curtsied, then scurried back onto the couch.

The girls calmed down by the dreadfully boring song "Fixer Upper" performed by the trolls. Julia was in Dean's lap, and Alicia was squashed comfortably between him and Roman. She rested her small body against Dean and began to doze.

Dean noticed Roman watching the girls, admiring them, admiring Dean, in such a homey position. Dean really didn't want him to get any ideas, but Roman's strong sense of family was uplifting.

 _If he wants kids and I don't…what does that mean? Will he compromise for me? Will I change my mind after a lifetime of resistance to the idea…_?

Dean didn't change his mind often.

Maybe Roman could.

It wasn't fair to him, though, if he did want kids.

They'd have to talk about it.

But not here. Not now.

When the credits rolled, Cesaro looked towards his mellow daughters. "I think it's time for jammies and teeth-brushing."

"No," Alicia tried to protest. She nuzzled closer to Dean. He couldn't help it. He put an arm over her and kissed her head. "I don't wanna go to bed."

Julia was quiet. But she wasn't obeying Cesaro, either.

"You need to get some sleep," Dean encouraged. "You've had a fun, long day. And tomorrow, you can wake up and have even more fun."

"Will you be here tomorrow?" she asked, craning her neck to look up at him. Her eyes were sparkling with hope, hope he unfortunately had to shut down for the time being. He hadn't been kidding in the slightest about his weakness for brown eyes. It physically pained him to answer.

"I don't think so, sweetie. I'm sorry," he spoke over her groan. "But hey, Daddy and I are talking a lot now, which means I can come over and play with you and Julia more often."

She smiled weakly. It stabbed his heart. "Okay."

"Alright. I love you, Alicia." He kissed her again, and she dragged herself off the couch. Julia wordlessly wrapped her little arms around Dean's neck, and he hugged her back tightly. "I love you, Julia."

Alicia hugged Roman's legs. "Thanks for introducing us to your friend, Uncle Dean. He's nice. Even if he's quiet."

Roman smiled. "You're so sweet. Thank you, Alicia." He patted her back.

Julia walked to Cesaro, and he swept her up in his arms. "You guys can head downstairs if you want. It's through that door, across from the kitchen. I'll put them to bed and be down in a little while. Help yourself to whatever's on tap." He winked at Dean. "Say goodnight, girls."

"Good night," Alicia said.

"Good night," Julia echoed.

"Good night, girls," Dean said.

"Sweet dreams," Roman said.

Dean waited until Cesaro walked them up the carpeted steps to lift from the couch. "They're precious. Sometimes a little loud, sometimes a little annoying…but they're really good girls."

"They are." Roman didn't stand with him right away.

"You okay?" Dean asked, rubbing his knee.

"Yeah, I'm good. Little tired."

"Are you bummed out about what I said?"

"What, about you not wanting kids?"

Perhaps he hadn't meant to sound so patronizing, but Dean took it that way upon himself. "Yeah."

"Don't worry about it. It's not for everyone. But don't doubt yourself within that, Dean. You'd be a great dad."

"I wouldn't. You would. But I wouldn't."

Roman finally stood up, anchoring a gaze into Dean's eyes, kicking his heart into overdrive. "The way you were with the girls tonight? _That_ was something I've never seen in you before. Paternal, protective. I've seen you affectionate and all before, but that just made me smile."

"What can I say? I love those little tykes."

"I love you."

"I love you too, Roman. Always. Forever."

"And no matter what." At last he captured Dean's lips in a kiss behind schedule. Dean nearly melted on Cesaro's living room floor.

"Let's go see this downstairs Cesaro keeps bragging about," Dean said. He was able to hold Roman's hand, snatch his guitar case by the front door, and lead Roman down a curved staircase to the basement.

He froze on the final step as the area came into his full view. It was his heaven, his Valhalla, everything he ever wanted without _realizing_ he'd always wanted it.

The walls were painted black, but one couldn't even see the walls behind all the hanging vinyl records, album covers and music posters. A great American flag dangled beside a British flag above a multi-amp system. One wall was specifically dedicated to Cesaro's guitar collection. He had five electrics and three acoustics, all different colors and styles. A long couch and a love seat were aligned in front of another flatscreen TV and a fireplace. A corner of the space was occupied by a stretching bar; in the opposite corner was a keyboard and yet another electric guitar balanced on a stand.

"Are we in Cesaro's basement, or yours in your dream house?" Roman asked.

Dean couldn't even speak at first. His throat was closed off and dry as cotton. He was as envious and resentful of Cesaro as he was damn proud and privileged to share blood with him. Even by only half.

"I love Cesaro," Dean announced.

"Damn, I'm not even in the picture anymore," Roman laughed.

He crossed the floor slowly, like moving any faster than the pace he was at would rattle the walls and send the precious instruments toppling to the floor. He relished the hanging guitars, then reached an unsure hand towards the one on the floor. He didn't want to touch it. He'd ruin it no matter how clean his hands were.

" _Damn_ ," Dean breathed.

He heard the door open at the top of the stairs, followed by the pattering of steady feet on the wooden steps. "Welcome to the man-cave," Cesaro hailed, holding a bottle of beer. "Like what you see?"

"What distant rockstar relative of ours died for you to score all this stuff?" Dean asked, whirling around to face his brother. He could _feel_ the green in his face, in his heart.

"Nobody. This has amassed over the past fourteen years or so. Costly, but worthy, know what I mean?"

"Of course. Dude, I could live down here. Seriously. Just add a coffeemaker and I'm good. I don't even need a bed. I'll take that couch, or even the floor if necessary."

"Can I get you a beer, Roman?" Cesaro offered.

"Sure. Thanks."

Cesaro tugged open a little refrigerator Dean hadn't even noticed behind the bar. He grabbed a bottle for Roman and handed it over, along with a bottle opener. Then he wandered to Dean's side.

"Recognize her?" Cesaro asked, gesturing towards the Les Paul on the far left side of the assemblage.

Dean pondered for a moment. "Is that Skylar?"

"Sure is. Haven't touched her in years, but she's not going anywhere."

"That's amazing. She looks great, for her age."

"Thanks."

"Skylar's the guitar Cesaro used to teach me to play," Dean said to Roman, who'd joined his other side.

"Was that your first guitar you ever owned?" Roman queried.

"Actually, no, that was Benni," Cesaro responded. "She was a Gibson. Still my favorite to this day."

"Ah, yeah, Benni," Dean said. "I miss her."

"What happened to her?" Roman asked.

"Actually, uh, I sold her with some other stuff to cover groceries for a month," Cesaro told him. "It was right after Dad went to prison the first time, and Mom thought we were screwed. Oh, you told him about Dad, right?"

"I did," Dean said, nodding. "I tell him everything." _Almost_ , he thought as his chest twisted into a knot. _Just not The Secret_.

"This one's actually my newest one," Cesaro said, lifting a gaze to a navy-blue Gibson Les Paul. It nearly radiated in its place. "I play her more often than the others, even Catalina over there. This is Skylar the Second."

"Skylar the Second," Dean repeated with a smile. "I like that."

Cesaro carefully removed Skylar the Second off the wall. "Skylar will never be replaced, but she can be commemorated in modern form."

Dean's heart was drumming against his ribs. "You wanna play?"

"Of course. That's why we're here, right?" Cesaro smiled. "We can plug these into the amp in a bit. First I want to take a look at Caroline."

"Oh, right." Dean surrendered his case to Cesaro. He freed the injured guitar and carefully placed her on the bar. Within minutes he'd found all of his tools: some super glue, a touch of paint, and a razor blade to remove excess paint and glue. Dean watched him repair the chips as he'd watched Cesaro do so often when they were kids. Dean didn't start getting very careful and overly-protective of his instruments until he was much older. He'd dropped more guitars by accident than he was proud of.

"We'll let that sit for a bit," Cesaro said, placing his tools on the counter beside the healing instrument and wiped his hands like a doctor after surgery. "In the meantime, go ahead and pick up Catalina over there."

Dean was thrilled. "This won't wake up the girls?" he felt the need to ask.

"Nah. I installed soundproof walls down here. We'll be fine. I have the monitors over here, too, so I can check on them."

Dean pulled the strap of Catalina, the satin black ESP M10 in a stand beside the keyboard, over his shoulders. He preferred the feel of an acoustic guitar in hand. Light, simple, yet powerful like he was a god of music. There was something much different about uplifting an electric guitar. It was heavier, bulkier, slick, as though it dominated him rather than the other way around. He was a slave to this instrument now.

Roman had a seat on the couch with his beer, looking excited about the show to come. Dean knew how much Roman loved to hear him play. Dean was ecstatic about this.

Cesaro plugged both instruments into separate amplifiers and turned the volume up a touch. He strummed a note on Skylar the Second. The walls trembled at her sound. The vibration rattled Dean's ears, and he loved it.

He strummed Catalina. Her sound was a bit lower, obviously a bit older than Skylar the Second, but she was dynamic nonetheless.

Cesaro played a series of random chords, then asked Dean, "Any requests?"

Dean stared down at the gorgeous instrument in hand. A robust song was in order. Nothing simple and placid like he was used to playing on acoustic. Tonight was truly about _rocking_.

And he had just the idea.

Dean sashayed into an introduction that made Cesaro grin wide. " _Yes_! You go, little brother."

He'd chosen Metallica's "Enter Sandman." Not one of the first songs Cesaro ever taught him to play, but rather one of the first he learned _with_ Cesaro while practicing on his own. This one was a team effort to master.

Cesaro waited until Dean hit the rhythm fill, then joined in with Skylar the Second. No notes were missed, one brother did not lag behind the other. The guitars fused with great sound, filling the basement with thunderous vibrations. Their voices blended together harmoniously.

" _Say your prayers, little one_

 _Don't forget, my son_

 _To include everyone_

 _Tuck you in, warm within_

 _Keep you free from sin_

 _Till the Sandman he comes_

 _Sleep with one eye open_

 _Gripping your pillow tight_

 _Exit light, enter night_

 _Take my hand_

 _We're off to never never land_!"

Dean felt intoxicated by the sound. His head was aching already from how loud it was, but it was a pain he welcomed as a consequence of a great time. He was lost in the music, lost in the words, yet on time with everything, keeping rhythm, matching Cesaro every step of the way. Music was a drug and he was a junkie.

" _Something's wrong, shut the light_

 _Heavy thoughts tonight_

 _And they aren't of Snow White_

 _Dreams of war, dreams of liars_

 _Dreams of dragon's fire_

 _And of things that will bite_

 _Sleep with one eye open_

 _Gripping your pillow tight_

 _Exit light, enter night_

 _Take my hand_

 _We're off to never never land_."

Roman was in love with Dean the way Dean was in love with him, and with the music. He'd never explain it in a way that didn't sound insane, but he was truly a drudge to the sound. A minion, an apprentice serving a merciful mistress. Music was why he was alive.

Why he kept going on days he felt like dying.

It was true before Dean met Roman. It was still true today. Roman kept him going with a pulse just as music did now. Two heartbeats, three if you counted his _literal_ heartbeat.

His soul. His life. His oxygen.

Dean and Cesaro sang together, drilling enthusiastic stares into one another, the words lifting in volume and pitch as they carried into the final chorus, almost like they were _yelling_ to each other now.

" _Hush little baby, don't say a word_

 _And never mind that noise you heard_

 _It's just the beasts under your bed_

 _In your closet, in your head_!

 _Exit light, enter night_

 _Grain of sand_

 _Exit light, enter night_

 _Take my hand_

 _We're off to never never land_!"

Cesaro improvised an ending to the song which usually faded into nothing. Dean kept up with him and faded out on his own, letting Cesaro wrap up the first jam session.

Roman clapped loudly for them. "That was awesome, guys!" he shouted. His ears must have been ringing as badly as Dean's.

Dean bowed. He was on fire, inside and out. "Thank you, thank you."

"You got any requests, Roman?" Cesaro asked.

"'Number of the Beast' by Iron Maiden?" Roman suggested.

"Oh, I actually don't know that one," Dean said, wincing. _Add that to the list of songs to learn this year_.

"I do," Cesaro said. "You can watch me and be my voice. Or we can pick a different song."

"Show me what you got, big brother," Dean said, smiling. He could show off on his own later. Cesaro could have that particular opportunity now.

Dean only forgot a couple of words, but otherwise he executed a near-perfect delivery of the song. Cesaro killed the song on his guitar, like he'd written it himself and Iron Maiden had borrowed it from him without permission. Dean found himself just smiling through the lyrics as he watched Cesaro in his ultimate comfort zone, a zone they'd shared as young brothers. A zone they hadn't tapped in years.

A zone he could remember fondly now. Invite himself back into. Share once more with his wonderful brother, the only one in his genetic family he truly loved.

"It tires me out, though," Cesaro said at the end of the song. "Phew." He put Skylar the Second on the carpet to rest and flicked the amp off, and Dean situated Catalina against the coffee table. The brothers joined Roman on the couch. Dean helped himself to another glass of sweet wine while Roman and Cesaro somehow took delight in their disgusting, bitter beers.

Dean chanced it, leaning against Roman now. Roman rubbed his shoulder with one hand. Cesaro didn't seem to mind. They wouldn't go too crazy on his couch in front of him.

"That was hot," Roman whispered in his ear. "You're a hot musician."

Dean grinned. "Thanks."

"So, Dean," Cesaro said. "Did you, uh…did you call Mom up yet?"

"No," Dean said, fighting a frown. Why did Cesaro always have to ruin good times by mentioning that woman?

"Oh. Alright. I didn't know if you'd planned on it, or…"

"I'm still thinking about it."

"I know she'd love to hear from you."

Dean would be happy never to hear those words again. Cesaro spoke them far too often. "Why, is she expecting to hear from me?"

Cesaro shrugged, putting the beer bottle to his lips. "I told her she might. But not to get her hopes up."

"Not like she would." Dean sipped his wine and leaned further into Roman, reclining between his arm and chest. "She wouldn't care if I did or not, Cesaro. Trust me."

"How are you so sure?"

"Maybe because I know her. I've been with her for a long time."

"She's changed, little brother. I promise you. You haven't seen her the way I have recently. You don't know her the way I do."

"I've never known her the way _you_ do. You were Mommy and Daddy's little angel, remember?"

Cesaro pressed his lips together. "It's different now. We're grown up, we're living our own lives. They understand that."

"I'm in a life outside where I used to be, and I'm happy about it."

"Dean, if you don't want to call her, don't call her. I'm just saying, I don't want to see you distraught over what _was_ , and _isn't_ anymore."

"I'm not distraught."

"Okay, sure, you're not. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."

"I'll call her if I feel like I should do so, Cesaro. I appreciate you looking after me, making sure I'm okay. And I really am now. I've never been happier."

"You told me that, and I believe you, and I'm so happy. You deserve it."

"Damn right."

Cesaro's eyes lifted to Roman's. "You see what you do to him, Roman? I've never seen him so… _blissful_ before. Not ever. You must be someone really special to have this kind of impact on such a rascal." Cesaro patted Dean's leg as Roman slid an arm over Dean's stomach and squeezed him tight.

"He makes me even happier than that."

"The two of you work so well together. I can see it, just watching you guys. I don't know the intimate details of your relationship, but this is what's meant to be. I know it. I can see it. Dean, you literally glow whenever you look at Roman. And Roman, I don't think you've stopped smiling since you arrived here. And I know it's because of Dean. He's an amazing guy. You're lucky to have him. And he's very lucky to have you, too. My brother deserves someone like you."

"Thank you," Roman said. "I'm blessed to have him."

Dean dipped his head back to stare at Roman. He could feel the glow now, warming him from face to heart and even his buzzing fingertips, taking in the sight of his beloved. "Can I play something for you?"

"Of course, Dean. Do you have something in mind?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Caroline should be ready to go by now," Cesaro said. "If you want to give her a try."

Caroline was mended. Cesaro was a hero. Dean embraced the familiarity of her surface, of her weight, of her strings. He was comfortable again, more at home than in a place of ecstasy and lightning like he'd been playing that electric guitar. Roman might have already figured out what Dean wanted to play, but it didn't stop the delight in its course. It was a song that started with the words " _saying I love you_ " and ended with the words "'c _ause I already know_." A song that started with a smile and ended with a kiss, a nod from Cesaro, approval, love. Things so unfamiliar to Dean once before. A song that started with Roman and Dean as imperfect strangers and would end, Dean hoped and ached and prayed and begged whatever God was out there, as they began: together, happy, at home.

Home was not just a place. Home was a sensation.

Here and now, Dean was home.

With his wonderful brother, Dean was home.

With Roman Reigns especially, Dean was home.


	12. Chapter 12

**_I'm soooOOOOOOOOOooo sorry for not updating this one in a very long time. Life keeps getting in the way. Jobs coming and going. Ha. Hope things settle down soon. In the meantime, I'm still around to bring you more Ambreigns + Seth Rollins/whoever he's destined to end up with! Enjoy~_**

* * *

Randy Orton's laugh lit the night brighter than the sun lit any day. Seth adored the way he'd throw his head back and rock from side to side at something notably funny, especially if it was Seth who'd made him laugh that hard in the first place.

He couldn't even blame the beer at this point. It had been hours since Randy's last sip.

"You know what's funny," Randy said, battering his fingers on the Xbox controller's buttons during an intense round of _Metal Wars_ online. "It's, what, ten o'clock at night? Half of the people we're playing right now will be logging off in the next half hour because it's way past their bedtime."

"On a Saturday? Doubt it."

"Oh, you're right. Damn. Then we'll be shooting down twelve year-olds who've allegedly had procreative encounters with my mother _all night long_."

Seth snickered. "Oh, watch out. Metadroid on your left."

"I see him." Randy gunned down the glossy metallic robot. "Your class is bad and you should feel bad, bitch."

"Your meme is dated and _you_ should feel bad. And Metadroids are one of the best classes in this game, by the by."

"No, they're not, they're sluggish and unmanageable and their weapon range is too limited."

"You've used the Metadroid like, what, once? Just because you're terrible at using a class doesn't make the class terrible."

"Oh, you're saying I'm terrible."

"That's exactly what I'm saying." Seth grinned in his direction. Randy's eyes were fastened to the screen, but Seth caught them flitting from the explosions on TV, over to him and back again.

"You're lucky we can't pause an online session, or I'd be on top of you _right now_."

Seth sucked in a breath. How he couldn't resist a statement like that. Was Randy just teasing? Only one way to find out. "You're not gonna do shit to me," he challenged.

"Round's over in a minute and a half, Rollins. Don't test me."

"So I've got ninety seconds to drive you absolutely insane."

"Hey, it's _your_ profile score that gets affected if I leave my character idol to get gunned down."

"Your character's getting gunned down whether you're manning him or not. You _suck_."

"Fuck it." Randy's controller tumbled onto the carpet. Seth had a fraction of a second to brace for his grapple. Randy shoved him to the floor, positioning one knee between his pecs and the other over his waist. He pinned Seth's wrists above his head.

"What were you saying about me sucking?" Randy grumbled, lips shaping into a cocksure smirk.

"Well, if this is the best you can do, then you're only proving my point," Seth grunted. He swung right leg up, the one unguarded by Randy's burly calf, and brought it between Randy's figure and his own. Then he held Randy's upper half between his legs, scissors-style, and flipped Randy off him. Seth took the opportunity to hold Randy to the floor with both his legs over Randy's chest and seized hold of his arm between his legs. Seth crushed his knees together, locking Randy's forearm and up separate from the rest of his body, lightly twisting Randy's wrist. Nothing that would hurt too terribly, so long as Randy didn't struggle.

"Damn, Seth, how'd you get so strong?" Randy asked.

"I lift cars all day," Seth answered. "I'm kind of Herculean."

"In my defense, I'm still a little drunk."

"Bad excuse. You haven't taken a drink in hours. Tap out or your arm's in trouble."

"Never!" Randy raised both legs in the air, wrenching his body, trying to get _some_ sort of advantage over Seth.

And what an advantage he had.

Both his socked feet travelled past Seth's face, and he took the sight of them in nervously, again. Maybe he should have gone for an ankle lock instead of an arm bar. The perfect excuse to hold them near, touch them…he wondered what they felt like…under the socks which almost seemed _glossy_ , what they tasted like…

"Ha ha, like what you see, Rollins?" Randy taunted.

Seth blushed. Damn. He'd been caught. Not that he was a master of hiding this. "Your boats reek, dude. Get them out of my face."

It didn't work. Randy cackled, rubbing both big toes over and across Seth's cheekbones. Even sexier, he was very flexible to be able to contort his body like this.

"Knock it off," Seth said. He chewed the insides of both cheeks to keep from smiling, gushing. _I don't think I've ever wanted anyone more in my life._

"Nah, I think you _like_ it."

"You're disgusting."

"Hey, you're the one holding _me_ close right now. Any excuse to touch me, right?"

Something shifted inside Seth. Suddenly he wasn't comfortable where he was, where they were. And what would Roman say if he came home right now? Dean would be beside himself.

 _I am so fucking deplorable. He's not into me like that_!

Seth opened his legs, releasing Randy's arm. Randy rolled into a sitting position and turned to face Seth. "Hey. What's wrong? You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry."

"You didn't do anything wrong. Why are you apologizing?"

Seth draped his arms over his knees. "Just didn't want you to get the wrong idea." _Or the right idea, more accurately_.

"Because of what I said? Shit, dude, _I'm_ sorry." He put a hand to his chest apologetically, then moved it to Seth's shoulder. "That was real ass-y of me. I just…I'm used to girls being all over me all the time. It's kind of the norm. Makes me sound like a real douche, I know. I shouldn't overstate it."

"Nah. It's true. I mean, I see why they…" He let his voice drag to a stop before he let anything regrettable slip. "I mean, I get it."

"But you're different, right? I got a lot of respect for you. And you're not some broad that wants to fuck me, right? You're a friend. I shouldn't be teasing you like that." He squeezed Seth's taut skin. "My bad, dog."

"It's all good. Just me being…" _Confused? Self-loathing? Pathetic_? "Dishy."

Randy smiled. "You _are_ dishy. And plate-y."

Seth was overly aware of Randy's hand still on his shoulder. How warm he felt. How strong.

"And," Randy said, eyes sinking to what could have been the floor, or Seth's chest, or the swelling under his pants Seth prayed and prayed he couldn't see. "To be honest with you, Rollins, I've had a better time with you lately than I've had with anyone in a long time."

"Yeah?" Seth asked, assuming it sounded more casual and less timid than, "Really?"

"Yeah. I mean, you get me, man. We're just two dudes who can have fun. Not get into drama. Not let petty shit come between us. I know we're not best friends or anything, but I like where this is going. And I'd like to keep you around. I think you could be good for me."

Seth's heart was swelling now, too. A completely different kind of stiffness in his chest. "The angel in white on your left shoulder?"

"Nah, dude. The pimp in red on the right."

Seth laughed. Already he was feeling better. "I think I can fit that position really well."

"Good."

Randy's gaze elevated again, taking Seth's captive in a hasp. He absolutely couldn't look away if he wanted to. Every part of Randy was irresistible, inside and out, and badly, so badly Seth wanted to know more, to plunge into waters he'd yet to swim in, to experience love in a way he only witnessed in others and never believed could happen to _him_ , to plain old Seth Rollins, unless of course miracles _did_ happen…

The lock on the front door twisted by a key.

Reality came over him in a cold splash. He shook his head, and Randy sighed. "That Roman?"

"Either that, or the slowest-moving burglar I've ever encountered."

The door pushed open, steering a wintry gale through the apartment in front of Roman and Dean. Dean shivered and kicked out of his scruffy boots. Roman took his coat for him and hung both Dean's and his own in the closet. "Let's hear it for summer, eh?" Dean asked. He wandered into the living room, giving a chin-lift to Randy and Seth before peeping at the TV screen. His nose wrinkled at the final score of the round Randy and Seth had abandoned. "You guys suck."

"Yeah, I think I just need more practice," Randy said. "Seth was trying to help me out, but I guess I'm a lost cause, huh, Rollins?" Randy nudged his shoulder, then jounced to his feet. Seth didn't expect him to offer a hand to help him up. It was a pleasant surprise. Seth welcomed the second or two their hands were within one another's.

"Nah, you're not too bad, dude. Like you said. Just need more practice."

"Did y'all have fun at, uh…wherever you were?" Randy asked Roman, greeting his old friend with a handshake-turned-hug.

"Yeah, we had a good time," Roman said. "I like Dean's brother. He's an upright guy."

"Uh-huh. You say that now," Dean said, sprinting into the kitchen. "He's a criminal genius. Ask anyone."

"He hides it well."

"That's the _genius_ part."

Roman looked at Seth. "Did you have a good night?"

"Yeah," Seth insisted, but he wasn't making eye contact. Roman wondered what that was about. He didn't seem to wish to see anyone in the room, except perhaps Dean, as Seth followed Dean from the carpet onto the tile floor of the kitchen. Dean pulled a water bottle from the top shelf in the fridge, then snagged a packet of strawberry Kool-Aid from the pantry.

Roman dropped a stack of mail, which he'd picked up on the way inside with Dean, on top of the bookcase in the living room. "You sticking around, Randy? Dean and I haven't seen you in a while, and I'm not socially spent just yet."

"Oh, I'll stay if Seth's cool with it," Randy said, looking to Seth over the counter.

"Because fuck my opinion, I guess," Dean said, smirking as he shook up his water bottle with the powder swirling inside.

"That cool with you, Seth?"

Seth raised and lowered a shoulder. "If you want."

"Don't get shy on me now, Rollins. You're dishy, but you ain't a sissy."

Seth smiled weakly. "I'm not shy enough not to give you an ass-whooping in front of my family." He referred to the Xbox, which was about to shut off on its own due to lack of activity.

Randy gasped. "Oh, you're abandoning me as a teammate? I see how it is. No Rollins and Orton versus Ambrose and Reigns, fine."

"Free-for-all?" Dean asked, taking a swig of the fruit, sweet concoction. "Sounds good to me. Sorry, Ro, your ass is grass."

"Wow, I never signed off on civil war in my apartment," Roman said.

"I don't think anyone signs off on civil war, man," Randy said. "I think it just happens."

It was a fun round, albeit uneventful. Randy didn't bother nudging or making any physical advances on Seth while Dean and Roman were present, nor did Seth bother designating any of his own. That was fine. He was comfortable now, relaxed. He could enjoy his time, tearing Roman and Dean and Randy's soldiers apart with his own classes, no matter how considerably Randy mocked him for his choice of weapons or fighter type. It was a simple night.

His mind had been turned off to emotions.

When Randy decided to leave—he was sober enough to drive fine, Seth supposed—he managed to surprise Seth yet again by dismissing Roman and Dean with a handshake, yet opening his arms up for a full hug for Seth.

Seth welcomed the embrace, sure, nearly dissolving in the strength of Randy's arms. His heart was beating up his throat. When Randy released him, it was like he took a part of Seth away that Seth couldn't get back until they hugged again.

 _Fucking wreck_.

"Thanks for letting me bum around here a while, guys. Appreciate it," Randy said, waving once more.

"No problem, Randy," Roman said.

"See you later," Dean called.

"Text me, Rollins."

 _Is this bold of him? Or is he just being polite_? "Uh—later, Randy, see ya, bye," Seth spurted.

Roman locked the door behind Randy. Seth was sad at his absence already.

"Miss him?" Dean teased from behind, poking Seth in the back.

"Shut up," Seth said.

"I'll take that as a yes."

"Are these just bills, Roman?" Seth asked, swiping the mail off the bookshelf and thumbing through the envelopes. Each one deepened his frown by another inch. This financial nightmare needed to end.

"Yeah, I think so."

The envelope at the bottom didn't match the others in the pile. It was pale pink in color, with curly letters scribed across the top, spelling Roman's full name. "Uh, I think you have a letter."

Dean hummed the letter song from _Blue's Clues_.

"From who?" Roman asked, cocking his head.

"Dunno. Name at the top doesn't look familiar." He handed the envelope off to Roman.

"Stephanie Rotunda? Never heard of her."

His curiosity was itched, though, and as Seth and Dean exchanged juvenile dialogue regarding Seth's crush on Randy, he pried the envelope open with his thumb and withdrew a card from within. It was a light yellow card with a photo of an animated little boy holding a balloon; beneath the image, the words "THINKING OF YOU…" in cursive print.

He opened the card to a giant smiley face.

His throat went arid and he couldn't remember for a moment how to breathe.

There was writing beneath the printed text on the card, text he paid no attention to as his eyes skimmed the handwritten letters instead.

"MISSING YOU DEARLY, SWEET ROMAN. I HOPE YOU HAVEN'T FORGOTTEN ABOUT ME. LOVE, SISTER ABIGAIL."

"What the fuck!?" Roman barked.

"What?" Dean asked. "What is it, Ro?"

"What's the matter?" Seth asked at the same time. They approached Roman cautiously, like he was a ticking time bomb.

His hands shook as they held the card. "It…it…"

"It's what, Roman?" Understanding Roman couldn't function on his own temporarily, Dean dragged the card from his fingers and read it over himself. Seth read the haunting words over his shoulder.

They exchanged a troubled look, then moved the look to Roman in sync.

"You—you've gotta be kidding me," Roman blubbered. He ran a hand over his face. Shock devoured him. It was hard to even stand. "You've gotta be _kidding me_!"

"It—it's nothing," Dean said, sounding dry in the throat himself. He ran his tongue over his lips and tried to hand the card back to Roman. He didn't want it, of course, but he took it anyway, letting the top half of the card sag as he helplessly read over the note. "It's—"

"It's going to be taken care of by the authorities," Seth said. Logic and sense to the rescue, his strong point. "We've still got those detectives' numbers, right? Copeland and Reso or whatever? Give this to them. Envelope and all. Let them handle it. If it's really…" Seth pushed out a sigh, incredulous in a sense that was still calmer than Roman and Dean's. "If it's really her, then she just exposed herself like an idiot. And they'll find her."

"Just didn't think she'd come back," Roman muttered. "Thought she was gone. Out. Disappeared."

"Obviously not…but now, she's given the police a clue to her whereabouts. They can look at the address, track it through the mail system…however they'll do it." _However I'll do it someday_. "But this isn't our business anymore, Roman. We're not the crimefighters here. We don't have to make the rescues. We're safe."

Roman looked at him with tired eyes. He was right, of course he was right, but there was nothing Roman wanted more in the world than to live a day, one full day, _believing_ things would be okay.

In this life? With Dean and Seth…could they ever be?

* * *

 _Our boys have so much going on in their lives! Don't worry: I've got plans to bring everything to order (and perhaps a bit of chaos.) Next chapters talk about reactions and responses to their plights. Stay tuned._

 _Review? :)_


	13. Chapter 13

_**A/N: Sorry for my brief absence. Life has been crazy, but it's starting to settle down again. I haven't forgotten about this story or my amazing readers. :) Things are starting to move for our boys. Each has a personal journey ahead of them. I'm looking forward to sharing those journeys with you guys~**_

* * *

Dean couldn't sleep.

There wasn't a place more tranquil for him in the world than right here, in the arms of his beloved, warm under a comforter. Yet his mind was rolling, thoughts tumbling over and over themselves like they were caught in a dryer. Thoughts of Sister Abigail. Thoughts of work and money. Thoughts of Roman and Seth, their safety.

Thoughts of his mom. Baby Sami.

He was one to always be in control of his life. Now he felt it slipping from his fingertips, and it frightened him.

He needed to get some jurisdiction back.

Dean craned his head to look at the clock on the nightstand. 2:34. Roughly four hours since he laid his head to rest. Roman was still, except his gentle breathing. Dean pressed his lips against Roman's forehead, then gently plucked himself from the bed.

"I'll be right back," he whispered in case Roman could hear him.

Roman closed his arms around the empty space that was once Dean.

Dean slipped out of the bedroom. Seth's door was partially open. He stepped inside, moving slowly through the darkness until nearing the bed, then leaned over Seth's sleeping form and pushed his body against him.

"I love you, Seth," Dean spoke softly.

"Get off me, Ambrose," Seth mumbled, nudging Dean with his shoulder. He pulled the blanket over his head.

Dean smiled. These two were his life now.

But there were other aspects that couldn't be avoided forever.

Dean worked in the darkness, zipping up Caroline in her case, pulling on one of Roman's sweatshirts from the closet, then his leather jacket over it. He wasn't sure what the temperature was outside, but February nights in Colorado were destined to be arctic. He borrowed Seth's gloves, captured the handle of his guitar case in a fabric-veiled hand, and stepped out of the apartment. He made sure to lock the door behind him.

Roman and Seth would be safe.

He counted on it.

Dean took a walk. Busses didn't run this late, so he trusted his own two feet to get him where he wanted to go. The way it usually worked, so long ago when he had no boyfriend, no other rides available. Walking relaxed him. It refreshed him, especially in this nippy weather. His ears were burning already from the exposure. He curled and uncurled his fingers around the case handle to keep feeling in them.

He'd die before he made it all the way downtown to Acacia Park, so he settled on a closer destination: St. Peter's, a food bank Dean relied on his first few months in the city. It was two blocks from White Peak Library, where Dean had spent every afternoon for two weeks in the computer lab, accessing Craigslist over the library's network, looking for a home away from the Wyatts. Across the street was a Village Inn, where Dean and Seth had met for the first time, his first and only response to the ad.

Dean would never forget the look on Seth's face when he realized the guy he was looking for, "Jon Moxley", was a mangy, bearded individual who needed Seth as much as Seth needed him.

He'd almost looked disgusted—but it rendered to pity once they got to talking.

" _Not sure if you're aware of this, Mr. Rollins, but you're saving my life_."

Dean remembered wondering if that was too intricate a statement to reveal to a stranger.

" _Maybe we can help each other out_ ," Seth had said.

" _I'm your guy_."

The restaurant was closed now but Dean could see it from here. One of the "monumental" sites that helped shape the life he lived today.

One he wouldn't trade for anything.

This food bank was a monumental site, too.

These were all reminders of just how far he'd come. How happy he was, in contrast of where he used to be.

Dean leaned against the brick exterior of the building. He figured he could break in, warm up a little, maybe help himself to a snack: but he wasn't about _that_ lot anymore. He wasn't needy anymore. Others were needy.

Others like Sami.

Dean played his guitar for several minutes, passing from one song to the next. His lungs hurt too much to sing. He crooned the lyrics to each one inwardly. His fingers ached. Seth's gloves provided little use against the cold. He felt his blood was turning blue, freezing over. He played harder.

 _This is where I used to be. No longer. I count myself very lucky_.

Finally he set the instrument aside and wrestled his phone from his jacket pocket.

Pulled up the number Cesaro had provided.

Stared it down. Memorizing it, for as long as he stared at it.

Then pressed Send.

He was smiling now as the phone rang and rang. She wouldn't answer. It was too late at night, even an hour behind him in California. _Hey, man, I tried. She didn't pick up_. Then he could put the thought aside forever. Break the tie that was snapping at him like a whip, in connection to his past. After sawing off this particular cord, he could move onto cutting out another part of his past that was looming in the distance: Sister Abigail.

He was polishing an idea for a voicemail to leave, to slash that tie once and for all, when the ringing stopped.

" _Mmmmhullo_?"

Dean froze in a stiffness that wasn't related to the biting weather.

Was this…her?

"Hello?" the voice came again. Female. Groggy. Naturally so.

Why the hell had she answered?

His shortcut had been shut down. She'd ruined everything.

 _Just hang up. Hang up. Hang up, Dean, you don't have to do this—_

"Hi," he said, then squeezed his eyes shut.

 _Why did you talk, idiot? Now you have to converse._

But he understood why.

Because this life wasn't about running anymore. Running got tiring after a while, even for a marathon runner. Dean was the Ryan Hall of dodging problems.

But that was old him. The one he was trying to wipe out.

He looked to the sign for St. Peter's. Old. Then to the Village Inn across the street. New.

He liked new. He wanted new.

New meant growing the fuck up.

New meant getting this over with like an adult.

"Who the hell is this?" she demanded. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

 _Yep. This is Mom, alright_. "Why are you awake?"

"Wh—excuse me? Who the hell do you think you—"

"It's Dean, Mom." The word felt dirty coming up. Like he hadn't the right to use it. Or she hadn't the right to hear it. "It's Dean."

There was such a long pause that Dean thought the call might have disconnected. Yet the woman drew in a breath and exhaled his name. "Dean?"

"Yeah, that's me." He tucked his head between his knees, swallowing back the urge to sob. _Well, so much for growing up_.

"Wh—I—I—Dean. Wow, I—"

Dean sat up. "Yeah. Me too, Mom." Perhaps the more he'd say it, the less sick it would make him feel.

"Dean…"

"Why are you awake now? Did I wake you up?"

"Uh, er, well, yes and no. Baby's been crying around this time every night anyway, wanting to eat. So I was sorta ready to get up anyway."

"Ah. Yeah. Cesaro told me about the kid."

"Dean, I…how are you? Are you…are you alright? Hanging in there?"

"I'm fine." That was a lie. Another habit he had to relinquish. "I'm more than fine, actually. I'm great. I'm so, so great."

"That's—really? That's good to hear, Dean. Getting enough to eat?"

"I live in an apartment with…some friends." Now was not the time to admit more than he was ready to disclose. "Warm bed. Nice TV. Plenty of food. I'm way better off." _Now. Than I was in California_.

"Oh, hi, honey. Are you hungry? Yeah? You want something to eat, sweetheart?" It took Dean a moment to understand she must have been talking to Sami, not him. "What up with the pet names?"

"He responds well to them."

"I didn't get much of those when I was his age." Dean tried to play it off as a joke. His "dad" had had plenty of nicknames for him, alright. Ranging from "faggot" to "little shit" to absolutely nothing, even refusing to speak the boy's name.

"He's a cutie, Dean. You should see him. Little redhead."

Casual small talk wouldn't get him any closer to his goal. "Does he know about me?"

A pause. "Er, well…we don't, uh…we don't exactly mention you. He's too young to understand."

"Yet not too young to respond to pet names."

"Dean—"

"I'm his brother, Mom. He doesn't know about me? Does he know about Cesaro?"

"Cesaro makes his presence known in his family. He calls. You ran away. As far as anyone around here knew, you were gone for good. Hell, I didn't even know you were alive until Cesaro brought you up again."

Dean wondered if he was allowed to be offended. Sure, he wasn't around—but not even the mention of his name once in a while? No acknowledgement? He wasn't _truly_ dead.

He sensed her husband was behind that ploy. _Let's just cut Dean out of the picture, is that it, Dad? Two can play at that game. I'm so fucking done with this fucking family_.

"Dean?"

Dean blinked. What more was there to say? "If he doesn't know about me, it's obvious I don't belong there. Which is fine. Cesaro wanted me to drop a line, chat it up a bit, let you know how awesome I am. Leaving California was probably the best thing I could have done for myself."

"I know. I'm glad you did."

The words slashed at Dean's heart. "The hell does that mean?"

"Oh, don't take it that way, Dean. You were itching to get the hell out of here. I know how miserable you were. How much you hated your life."

 _You have no idea._ Not even she was aware of The Secret.

"I didn't want you to leave," she went on. "You might have fallen off the deep end, Dean, but you're my son and I loved you. I still do. All I wanted was for you to find the right path. To finally be happy. If it meant leaving home, I'd just have to cope with that. I knew you could do better than this shit hole."

Dean licked his lips. They burned in the icy winds. "I…I did. I knew I could, too."

"I'm so proud of you. Hearing you say you're happy. You're better off now. I'm glad things worked out for you. You and Cesaro both managed to make it out okay, and as a mother, that's all I wanted for the two of you."

"Yeah. So as long as the end results were swell and dandy, who cares how we got there, right?"

"The point is, you're okay _now_."

He was. But it sounded like she was trying to justify her crappy parenting by reassuring him of what he already knew…

Is that was he was looking for? An apology?

"But there's something you need to understand. Life is better here now, too. Things have changed. I doubt you were too worried about me or your father—"

Dean was on his feet. "That fucker is not my father, Mom. I don't know who my father is. I'm just a physical malfunction, remember?"

"Not _once_ did I _ever_ think that of you, Dean."

"That man might have raised me to believe I was a piece of shit. Maybe I bought it. But lately? I've been proven otherwise."

"So yours is the only life allowed to improve?"

"Mine is the only life _capable_ of improving."

"I'm telling you the truth, Dean. Your f—my husband—he's back home. He's making progress in his life. He promised me he was going to be a better man. A good husband, a good father to Sami."

 _That's because Sami's his kid and he's proud of anything he can bring into the world and nothing else. Selfish fucking bastard_ …

"I know you have trouble believing it."

"Of course I do!" Dean said.

"I don't blame you. But if you would only see—"

"See? Let me make it clear, Mom, I'm not coming back."

"Not ever?" she asked, sounding truly sad at what should have been obvious. "Dean, if you're happy where you are, I believe you and I support you—but coming back doesn't mean moving in and reliving a life you hated. If you've changed, and we changed, then perhaps it isn't too late."

"Too late for what?" He suspected he wouldn't like the answer.

"To be a family."

That word. What a definition it bore. Dean had only just learned the meaning of it months ago, through Seth, through Roman—not from anyone he shared DNA with. Even Cesaro had trouble representing the word, until recently, of course. But if anyone came close…

"Who thinks that's a good idea?" Dean questioned. "Really? Who?"

"You sounded almost appalled that Sami has no idea who you are. Don't you want to know him? Wouldn't it be nice to meet your brother?"

Damn her for playing the kid card. Dean had a weakness for children. Especially any who were growing up where he grew up. Change or not, he wouldn't believe a thing until he saw it…not that he'd ever see it…but this kid, this Sami, his _brother_ …would he be okay? Would he grow and develop within a decent existence, "make it out okay" in ways like Cesaro and Dean (eventually) had?

Or was he doomed from the moment his mother discovered she was pregnant with another child of that despicable disgrace of a human being, John Bradshaw Layfield?

He'd been asking himself those questions since Cesaro revealed the existence of a new brother. He wasn't anywhere near having an answer.

"Do you want to talk to him, Dean?"

"Uh…the kid?"

"Sami. His name's Sami."

Dean rubbed his stiff neck. He hadn't been ready for this. "Sami. Uh…sure, I guess? He might be a little out of it. Won't understand what's going on." _Will he ever_?

"Here, baby. Say hi to Dean."

The most timid voice Dean had ever heard cooed through the phone, "Hi, Bean."

It made him chuckle softly. "Hi. Your name's Sami, huh?"

Silence.

" _Say yes_ ," his mother encouraged in the background.

"Yeah…"

"Mommy's feeding you a late-night snack, huh?" Dean asked in a high voice he only used with Alicia and Julia. "What are you eating?"

" _Cwanbewwies_."

"Cranberries, huh? Say, that's actually a healthy snack. They're good for you." _She's feeding him fruit. Guess that's evidence things_ are _slightly better_. "Sami, do you wanna know who this is?"

"Bean."

Dean was fond of the nickname already. He didn't even want to bother with a correction. "I'm your big brother."

" _Cesawo_!"

Dean was falling apart. He slumped against the wall again. "Actually, I'm Cesaro's brother, too. We're both your brothers. I'm sorry I haven't been around. I live really far away."

"Why?"

Dean's tongue glided over his stinging lips again. He was in need of chapstick. "Long story, kiddo. I can tell you all about it sometime."

"W-w-will you come over and pway with me?"

Dean sagged his head. How to answer that? Was this his mother's tactic, or was she truly naive of how messed up things had been? Did she seriously foresee reconciliation in the future? "I don't know, Sami. I don't know. I'd love to, but like I said. I'm really far away."

"Okay."

Another pause. "Sure wish there was a way I could meet you, though."

"He gave the phone back to me, Dean. He's getting sleepy again."

"Ah. Okay. Sounds cute."

"He is. He's so precious. We love him so much."

"Mom, you're not making shit up when you say things are better, right? I don't want the kid— _Sami_ , enduring the hell I went through as a child."

"As many times as I say it, Dean, you won't believe me. But yes. Things are better now. Now, I'm not going to get on my hands and knees and beg you to come home."

"That place is not my home—"

"It's your choice." He imagined her lifting up a patient hand to quiet him. "Of course it's up to you. But I'm telling you, it could be so good."

"How does your hubby feel about that idea?"

"I—I haven't mentioned you. Cesaro let me know of your status, and I haven't relayed it to John yet."

"Uh-huh." _As expected._

"But if you just give him a chance—"

"Fuck that. No. I didn't call to schedule a family reunion, Mom. I called to…to…" Why _had_ he called? To cut the tie, wasn't that right? Was he still looking for that apology? Things certainly had changed, even in the span of this conversation. "I called to let my mother know I'm okay. And you shouldn't worry about me."

"Okay. Fair enough."

"And to tell you my life is amazing."

"I'm proud of you."

"And if yours is, too, then that's just _great_."

"Even if you don't believe me."

"I don't," Dean stated firmly.

"You shouldn't worry about us either, Dean. I'm making an effort now. We both are."

 _Where was that effort when I was growing up, huh?_

"But the door's always open for you, Dean. We'd never close it on you."

"You mean _you'd_ never close it on me. John sure would. He didn't even call the cops when I ran away the first time."

"Things are different," she maintained.

"I'm getting tired of hearing it. For the kid's sake, I hope you're right."

"Alright, Dean." It was dismissive.

Dean was weary. He wasn't looking forward to the walk back. At least he could sleep once he returned home—maybe. "You should get back to sleep, Mom. Put Sami to bed. He shouldn't be awake this late."

"He's nocturnal. It's nothing I can help. He operates on his own schedule. I see you in him, in that way."

 _No. This kid can never be like me. Never. He can't grow up a rebel, a rogue, someone who hates himself and hates the world and everyone around him…he deserves better than anyone can give him. This woman included. And especially John._

 _Hell, Roman could be a better parent than either of them_.

"Well, maybe I'll get to see it someday." He'd leave it at that. A bit of hope was better than nothing.

Guess this tie was no closer to being severed as it was at the beginning of the call.

"I hope so." Her voice quaked. Dean wouldn't give into it.

"Night, Mom."

"Good night, Dean, thank you for calling. Late as it was."

"Mhmm."

He ended the call in the middle of another instant of silence.

Now thoughts of the child tortured his mind on the walk home. The food bank was out of sight now— _Sami will never have to depend on a place like this for a meal_. He'd pass a park, a bench— _Sami will never be forced to sleep outside, on the streets_. His body jerked, shivering in the dead winter night— _Sami will never be cold. He'll always have clothes, a bed, a home, a roof, his life will be a bowl of cranberries and he'll never have to worry about a thing_ …

Dean wanted to see to it.

But how?

He was dragging his feet one after the other by the time he made it home. His fingers and toes had frosted over. His ears were bright red. Frosty particles clung to the ends of his hair. Dean set his guitar aside, stripped of his clothes and blessed himself with a warm shower before crawling back into bed with Roman, fresh pajamas, huddling against his man to recover his heat.

 _Sleep tight, Sami. I really hope things don't fucking blow for you at home_ …

Home.

Another word Dean hadn't learned the meaning of until getting far, _far_ away from California. From his mother and John Bradshaw Layfield.

 _Sami will know the definition of home. His life won't be a mystery._

 _That's a promise, kiddo_.

* * *

 _ **Review? :)**_


	14. Chapter 14: Is Anybody Still There?

Dean Ambrose sips his salted caramel mocha and stares across the table at Roman Reigns and Seth Rollins.

"Should Chy finish this story?" he asks.

Seth and Roman trade glances.

"It's been a while," Roman says. "I'm just wondering if people are still interested in it."

"Or even remember this story," Seth affirms.

Dean nods, understanding. "Life just got hard for her, y'know? Working a full-time job, not to mention how burned out Chy got on wrestling for a while."

"I get it," Roman says. "She misses writing fan fiction, too."

"I have an idea," Seth says. "Let's put out a message to all her followers—anyone who still does, on that website. We'll let them decide if she should continue it or not."

"Hey, yeah!" Dean exclaims. "If they're up for it, if they want to encourage her there, then maybe she should!"

Roman agrees with both of them. He looks right ahead at the potential readers out there.

"If you'd like for Cheyenne to finish this story, please leave a comment telling her so! It's been a while since she's even looked at it, and I'm sure she'd appreciate the encouragement!"

—

Anybody out there? :)


	15. Chapter 15

_The response I got to this was wonderful, and so quick, too! From the bottom of my heart, I'm sorry for my long absence. As mentioned in the previous chapter, I am now working full time, and I got so incredibly bored of wrestling (not writing! Just Vince misusing all the talent and whatnot!) It happens to all writers, but I hate to think I let any of my wonderful readers down…I cannot promise I'll write or update every single day, but I'm going to try. I loved writing this story so much and I don't want to give up on it, either!_

 _That said!_ _Here we go again…welcome back, guys._

 _-Chy_

* * *

Roman woke to an empty bed. Unusual, normally it was he who had to abandon the warmth and security of a bed with Dean. But he wriggled into a sweater and slinked out of his room to find his boyfriend sitting at the dining table, visibly shaking, somehow sipping from a mug without the contents dribbling everywhere.

"Dean?" Roman asked.

"Morning, Ro." Dean's voice sounded gruff. Perhaps he was coming down with a cold. He wiped a sleeve over his eyes before standing up and shuffling over the carpet to embrace Roman.

"What's wrong?"

"Everything."

Roman gasped inwardly. Cool, calm and collected Dean trembling in his arms? Did this have anything to do with Abigail? Roman certainly wouldn't have blamed him if it did, but…

"I, uh…" Dean pulled away, dabbing his eyes with his sweater—Roman's sweater—again. "I called my mother last night."

Roman was almost relieved. _That's it? Really_? Yet he knew of the damage Dean's family had permanently marred his spirit with. "How'd that go?" he strained, already knowing the answer.

"You wouldn't believe the shit she tried to pull with me. She had a brand-spankin'-new son and didn't bother telling him he has another older brother."

"I—"

Dean didn't bother letting him speak yet. He was too riled up. "She's like, 'Oh, I'm so proud of you. You might have fallen off the deep end, but you're my son and I love you.' Like _I'm_ the one who owes _her_ something. What the fuck is that about?"

Roman kept quiet, assuming Dean wasn't finished rambling yet, but as his messy-haired lover leaned against his strong hold again, Roman whispered all he really could: "It's okay."

"No, it's not, Roman. You don't know how guilty I'm feeling right now."

Roman blinked. He stepped away from Dean to quiz his expression. "I'm sorry. Guilty about what, exactly?"

"This kid could be on the road to self-destruction just like me. I don't want him to go through all the shit I went through, Roman, I don't. Mother can run her mouth all she wants, the way she did last night, _oh, look at me, I'm a good mom now because I feed my son fruit at two in the morning_!"

Roman had no idea what that meant, but he listened on, folding his sturdy arms over his chest.

"It just drives me crazy to think I know about this kid now," Dean said, rubbing a hand through his hair. "I know he exists, and he doesn't know I exist. Me. The guy he could grow up as someday. Right on the same fucking path."

"Or…" Roman hated himself at the moment. Dean needed encouragement right now, to vent. Not necessarily seeking out a solution to his problem.

But Dean was curious in his frustration. "Or…?"

"Or he could grow up and become Cesaro," Roman tried.

Dean snorted. "Divorced father of two with commitments overseas? Much better."

"Dean…"

"Hear me out. Please? Ro, I need you on my side here."

On his side? That didn't sound good. Roman cocked his head. "With what?"

Dean sucked in a breath. He looked physically anguished by the words he'd yet to speak.

"I think I have to go ho—go to California for a while."

Roman blinked, again, processing that sentence repeatedly. His brain was a flickering bulb, attempting to function yet distracted and limited. He peeked from side to side, searching for Dean's reasoning for this. His point.

"Anything to say?" Dean asked, a bit more blunt than he usually sounded with Roman, but understandably in this predicament.

"Why?" Roman pressed. Wasn't this the man who once said he'd never go back to California again? Who had a home in two people and a cozy apartment lodged in the heart of a in a college town? Dean didn't have to say anything to prove how he felt about California— _more than words_ , as the devil would often croon—but right now he was being unreasonable. Even for Dean, unreasonable.

"I gotta see the kid, Ro. It's eating me up. I gotta make sure they're taking care of him, that he isn't malnourished or bruised. I feel completely responsible for this little bastard and I only met him last night over the phone."

"Dean, I get what you're saying, I do…"

"So you have no objections—"

"Of course I do." Roman was surprised he'd believe otherwise. "I know you have a compassionate heart. I _know_ that. But there's no real reason to go all the way there, force open the door to your past and rip open those painful memories…"

"Roman, I'm not talking about _moving_ there." For whatever reason it bothered Roman when Dean didn't refer to him as "Ro" or "Superman." As if this was a conversation that had nothing to do with their romantic relationship—which was Roman's whole world. "I'm talking about dropping in. Paying a visit. Calling social services if I see one burn mark on his arm or a single cut on his face."

Dean was transferring his paranoia to Roman. Who was Ro to assume these people were abusing their child? Dean was proof it was possible. "Dean, I don't want you to get hurt."

"Can't."

"Yes, you can." _Especially you_. "It's not impossible."

"Okay, then I won't. They will _not_ hurt me again. Not ever."

"You don't even know if they're hurting _him_."

"I'll find out. Make it look like a surprise. 'Hey there, Mom and Dad, good to see you again after ten-something years. Mind making me some tea? Is this my brother? Are you locking him in the closet again because he won't stop crying because you bastards gave him a can of cold corn for dinner for the first time in a week? Are you smacking him upside the head with the remote control because he accidentally grabbed it for balance and changed the channel?'"

Hearing this from Dean made Roman's heart ache. Had a household really committed such heinous acts upon their youngest son…?

"I don't know what your argument is here, Ro. I know you care about me. I know you love me. And I know I've told you before how I ain't ever going back there. But I have to. Sami ain't my kid, but…" Dean licked his lips, then shook his head as if to rattle his sadness. "I've got to. Please understand. _Please_. The past is already wide open for me, staring me in the face. If I can do _anything_ at all to make sure my past doesn't become Sami's future…I will."

Roman sighed. Hard to argue with that logic, and not to mention resist that face.

"Do you want me to go with you?"

Dean was pleased at his surrender, though not completely settled down yet. "It'd be a fun little road trip for us. But you need to stay here and bust your ass so we can pay our bills, remember? We're having money problems." His smirk took on an imputing shade and Roman felt guilt creep through him.

"How do you figure that?"

"Besides the fact that I'm not an idiot, Seth told me. I got it. You and I were out of work for a while. Shit happens. You need to work. Seth needs to work. And you said Seth said he's okay with you working for his Pops, so you should get a move on that, too."

Roman nodded, head sinking like a child who'd just broken a window with his baseball. "I'm sorry. That wasn't supposed to be a secret or anything…just came up and Seth and I had all these talks about what to do…"

"I know. It bites, Ro. You just didn't want me to worry."

Roman smiled. "No shit."

Dean leaned in to kiss Roman's cheek, heating him up with warm and fuzzies. "Love you, Superman."

"Love you too."

"Guess I better get packing."

Reality stung those warm and fuzzies. "Wait, you're talking leaving, like, _today_?" Roman gasped, trailing Dean to their bedroom.

"Yeah, of course. The sooner, the better."

"How do you expect to get there without a car? Or an airline ticket?"

"I'm gonna call Cesaro here in a bit. See if _he'll_ go on a little road trip with me." Dean heaved a backpack out of the closet and skimmed the closet for his clothes. Compared to Roman's, he didn't have much.

Roman groaned at Dean's impulsiveness. "And what if he's _not_ up for a spontaneous expedition to the west coast?"

"Then I'll take that as a sign it's not meant to be right now. And I'll wait for the right time."

Of everything Dean had just blurted to him, of every fraction of the bombshell Roman had felt land on him, crush him… _that_ , Dean claiming suddenly to believe in signs, was the greatest shock of all. Dean did things his own way, against the universe or God, and yet here he was, complying with fate to meet his ambition? Well, sort of. This was still rather impulsive of him.

Roman could only watch Dean pack, heart beating and breaking over his man. He had every right to resolve his only family drama…God knew Dean had spent enough time working on his own affairs…and protecting Seth and Roman whenever he could…

Reckless madcap that he was, Dean Ambrose was his own kind of superhero. They could probably write comics on his shenanigans alone.

"Seth's gonna be pretty damn puzzled," Roman said to Dean, and to himself.

"Seth puzzled over my decisions? How uncharacteristic of him."

Roman couldn't help but smile at the sarcasm. _I love this reckless madcap of mine_.

It was Dean's decision to make for himself, bottom line. Roman could only support him, offer advice and warn him to be careful. And, in his own unique sense of "be careful", Dean would.

No sound had ambled from behind Seth's closed door, so Roman could only assume he was at work. Daydreaming about Randy Orton and/or Brie Bella. That was another talk they'd have to have at some point. Another "be careful" word or two of caution. He'd hate to see Seth get his heart broken.

Roman made himself breakfast, a bowl of instant oatmeal, while Dean called Cesaro up. Not to be nosy but he was mighty curious about Cesaro's response, his opinion of Dean's scheme and the amount of willingness to partake. Yet Roman was damned once again when Dean finished off the conversation with, "Great. Tomorrow morning, then. Before you get the girls back."

 _Is Cesaro really_ —?

"It's official," Dean said after telling his brother goodbye. He wandered into the kitchen, smacking his hands together like a villain with the notion to take over the world. "Cesaro and I are leaving at four o'clock tomorrow in the AM, trading shifts driving the sixteen hours to Anaheim."

"That long? That soon? He agreed?" Roman stumbled.

"Whoa, slow down, Ro." Dean put up a hand. "In order: yes, it's a long drive to California. We're sharing the cost of gas. We're taking his car since I lack in that department currently."

 _Excellent way to solve our financial crisis, Dean_. But Roman breathed out and listened on.

"I don't want to miss too much work, so we'll only be gone for a couple days," Dean carried on. "And yes, that soon. Cesaro actually said the sooner, the better too, because he gets Alicia and Julia back on Saturday and he has no commitments until then. Plus he's really excited for me that I'm finally taking my big brother's advice on something." Dean smiled slyly, then concluded his points. "And finally, yes. Obviously, he agreed." He lifted two thumbs towards the ceiling. "Thanks, universe. You're a pal."

"Maybe there's a God after all," Roman said.

"Maybe," Dean agreed.

 _I don't even know who I'm talking to right now. Is this still my Dean_? But Roman was as amazed at the sense of maturity as he was confused. Dean was willing to take valid chances, not reckless provocations. He was putting others above himself, yet again.

Dean dropped the backpack by the front door and stretched his arms above his head. "Might as well play a little guitar before I head out there. I used to take Annie everywhere, everywhere, _everywhere_ with me, but I'm too panicky about Caroline to risk letting anything happen to her this time around."

"I understand." Did he ever. "We'll take good care of her. Won't let her stay up too late, make sure she eats her fruits and veggies."

Dean giggled. "You're a goofball. You'd make a good dad someday, Roman."

Roman swallowed hard. Now…surely not…yet…was this paternal instinct regarding his baby brother somehow changing Dean's mind towards parenthood?

This wasn't the time to bring it up. Let him sort out his business in California first. Then they could talk about this. Eventually.

Dean settled on the couch, roosting Caroline in his lap and seeming somewhat aroused and also immensely satisfied as he strummed her strings, in-tune, for the first time that day. Roman supposed he'd never fully comprehend just what music meant to Dean. But he was getting an idea, and exposure to that concept on a daily basis.

"Any requests?" Dean queried, plunking harmonious chords upon Caroline's body. "Or should I go with the obvious?"

Roman smiled. "Can't beat a classic."

Dean nodded, complying. " _Saying 'I love you' is not the words I want to hear from you_ …"

After the romantic rendition of his and Dean's official "song" (and perhaps a bit of fondling and kissing on the couch to follow), Roman realized he had a call of his own to make now. Hunter was expecting to hear from him, most likely.

As Dean hummed to himself, creating beautiful music and original lyrics on the fly, Roman dialed Hunter's number. He'd made himself hold onto it, just in case this could work out.

Now that he had Seth's permission, he was aching for the opportunity. Financial motives alone.

Hunter was prompt to answer. "Hello, this is Hunter."

"Hello, this is Roman."

The professional tone melted away in a pitch of amity. "Roman! Hey, how are you doing, son?"

"Fine, sir." _Don't ever call me that, if you wouldn't mind_. "Just getting back to you on that job…opportunity." His nerves were still jumpy, but he squashed them under mounting debt. And Seth's approval. Hope. "I'm gonna take it."

"I'm very glad to hear that, Roman. I'm sure you'll do a fine job under my wing."

 _I will side with Seth on everything_. "I appreciate that, Mr. Rollins. You won't regret it." _Why are you so mean_?

Roman barely heard Hunter's next words over his own conscience. What the hell? This was completely fine to do; why was regret scuttling in so quickly? "What does your schedule look like this week, Roman? I'd like to have you over at the house, just so we can go over expectations and review the job description in full."

 _You need this, Reigns. You need this for your family. To live here and to eat and finish college_. "I'm pretty available this week. Unfortunately, work cut back on my hours." He closed his eyes, loathing his needy words.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Perhaps it's a silver lining."

"Yes, sir." _I love Seth. Seth Rollins is better than you know, and he's your damn son_. "All that to say, whenever is most convenient for you."

"In that case, are you free tomorrow evening?"

 _$12.75 an hour. Maybe more._ "Yeah. Er, yes, sir. I can manage that."

Hunter chuckled. "You don't have to call me 'sir', Roman. Sir Rollins is my father."

Roman forced a laugh at his lame dad joke. "Right. What time can I drop by? I don't want to interrupt dinner." _Have you not even bothered to call your son since Christmas_?

"Want to say six? It won't take long. You're a pretty brainy guy. You'll get it down in no time."

 _Here comes the money. Here we go, money talks. Here comes the money_ … "I can do that. No problem. Is there a dress code?"

He meant it as a joke but Hunter said, "You don't have to do much to impress me. Just show up wearing pants and we'll be fine."

 _Money, money, money, money, money, money_ … "Pants it is."

Hunter chuckled. Roman was ready to crawl under the table. _Fuck off, anxiety_! "See you tomorrow, Roman. I'm looking forward to our meeting."

"I am too, Hunter. Thanks again." _Wait, did I say anything stupid back there? Did my brain talk for me? Does he know how I really feel—?_

The call ended and Roman balanced himself on the counter. Beside his steady hands was a stack of bills and magazines none of them would ever subscribe to. A mountain of financial dues, the reason he _had_ to work for Hunter, bastard father of the year. If Dean's wasn't in the contest.

He couldn't think on the letter from Sister Abigail, or the fact that Dean had run into his ex-fiancee and her new lover at the park and they were still together remarkably, or that his roommate was possibly falling in love with one of his best friends, or that Dean was going to California to visit and potentially confront his parents about their young son. None of that mattered to him as much as this did.

One sentence pumped through his mind, on repeat, over and over, even going to the tune of whatever Dean was hammering on his acoustic guitar.

 _We're gonna make it. We're gonna make it. We're gonna make it_.

* * *

 _I'm sorry if that was too short! I've got a dozen ideas for what comes next, and I wanted to ease my way back into this story without rushing and making a ton of errors. As always, I love you guys so much, reviews make my entire day...and it's good to be back. :)_


	16. Chapter 16

Seth was entirely understanding and only slightly less apprehensive than Roman had reacted to Dean's news. Ironic, really, considering Seth knew more about his past than Roman did—empathized more, in a way. Roman returned home from his classes that afternoon and Seth got off work a short time later, so the three had the evening to themselves (despite Dean pestering Seth about inviting Randy over) before Dean departed early the next morning. Roman made spaghetti for dinner and the boys competed against one another in _Jeopardy_ (Roman answered the most questions correctly, the geek) and Dean attentively picked at Caroline's fine strings while Seth guided Roman through the campaign missions of _Metal Wars II_. He'd miss this badly, even if he would only be gone for a couple of days. Instead of bellyaching, he asserted the positive: he'd be stuck in the car with Cesaro for fifteen hours, to California and back again, giving him no choice but to spend some overdue quality time with his brother; he had the opportunity to take heart and finally tell his parents exactly how he felt about them; and absolute best case scenario, he'd be saving a little boy's life. Quite the adventure he had before him.

And if there was anything Dean coveted in life, it was adventure.

He made the decision early to stay awake through the night, still be active and cognizant by the time Cesaro picked him up, so he could sleep off the long trip in the car (when he wasn't scheduled to drive, anyway.) Sleep eluded him tonight anyhow, his mind seared by thoughts of the known and the unknown. In fact his brain was bounding with such energy that he started considering every single possibility before him, no matter how unlikely or feasible.

 _What if I get there and find out they've moved and I can't locate them? What if Sami gets badly hurt before I arrive and it's too late? What if Dad shoots me on sight? What if Mom realizes what a mess her life has been since the day she was born and she flees the country? What if we crash on the way there? What if something happens to the girls while Cesaro is gone_?

The "what if"s oppressed him for hours: through a movie he played on Netflix to kill time, through a comic of Roman's he borrowed and browsed for a few pages, through seven songs on his guitar before he decided to call it quits lest he wake Seth up before his long day at work. All he could do was roll over and over on the couch, pondering, wondering, worrying. He'd never fretted over a decision like this since the night he resolved to leave the Wyatt family and swipe every dollar he could find in Bray's apartment before scampering.

 _Oh, shit_ , he thought, tugging on the ends of his long hair. _What if Sister Abigail gets here while I'm gone and hurts Roman and Seth? What if they get kidnapped like last time and I'm not here to save them_?

"Dammit, Universe," Dean mumbled aloud. He was sweating badly. Perhaps a shower next to kill more time, clean himself up. "You gave me this sign, and I'm listening. What gives?"

Someone's door creaked open. Dean paused the movie and craned his neck to see who.

It was Roman, stripped down to boxer shorts in spite of the chill the apartment held. From here Dean could ogle, temporarily disregard all sense of panic.

"Are you alright?" Roman asked, voice low.

"Peachy," Dean uttered. "Reminding myself this is for the best."

Roman would most likely talk him out of this commitment had he known the extent of Dean's concerns. But he didn't put up an argument; he just walked over to the couch and settled in beside Dean.

"Remember why you're doing it."

"Yeah. For the kid. I don't know, just keep thinking about all the ramifications here."

"Wow, Dean. No offense, but you're actually considering ramifications. And using the word 'ramification.' That's very grown of you."

"Ew." Dean made a face, then chuckled. "Who wants to be all grown?"

Roman lured Dean into a nuzzle by opening his broad, tattooed arms up. Dean sunk into him, anchoring in Roman his very heart and soul.

"You'll be okay. You've got badass airman Cesaro with you, to look out for you."

"Yeah, I know, but who'll look out for you here?"

"Seth."

"And who'll look after him?"

"Me." Roman smiled. Dean was no longer shivering because of it. "What do you think is gonna happen? We can hold down the fort for a couple of days."

"I don't know, I guess…I've never had this much security in my life before. I'm used to shit going wrong. Now that I'm actually _settled_ down with a job, a family…I'm just waiting for it to all go south."

Roman's warm lips kissed his hair, and he tightened his grip around Dean. His slim fingers caressed Dean's back through his shirt. "I promise we'll be fine. You'll be fine. You said your past is wide open, looking in at you, and this is your chance to shut that bitch down forever. Once you settle your past, there's nothing to see but the present."

"And our future…" Dean droned. Funny how the demons and nightmares were expelled the moment Roman shielded him. Their love was a castle.

"And our future. Of course." Roman kissed his hair again. Dean realized his eyes had been closed for some time now. "You're doing the right thing. And I shouldn't have disputed it from the start. I'm proud of you, Dean."

 _Someone's proud of me. Holy shit, what is my life anymore_?

"Ro?"

"Hmm?"

"Don't let go." His voice was pulled tight, frail.

"I promise."

Dean trusted him.

* * *

His eyes pulled wide open when his phone buzzed and chimed from the floor. Cesaro had arrived.

Roman was still asleep behind him. Dean hated moments like this when he had to free himself from entanglement in his boyfriend's arms. But he hustled to silence his phone, then creep across the apartment and unlock the door.

Cesaro was dressed comfortably for the ride, yet still handsome and elegant somehow: a Football Club Vaduz shirt and a pair of sweats with sunglasses prematurely perched atop his smooth head.

"Morning," he greeted.

Dean put a finger to his lips, and Cesaro winced as he caught sight of the snoozing Roman on the couch.

"Sorry. You ready?"

"Just about." Dean invited him into the apartment. He tugged his phone from the wall charger and stashed the cord in the front pocket of his backpack. There wasn't much to pack for this sudden trip: clothes, deodorant, toothbrush, socks. He also seized Roman's _Guardians of the Galaxy_ blanket, for the road. He swooped down and kissed Roman's hair, missing him already.

"See you later, Superman," Dean whispered.

"This is a nice place," Cesaro complimented. "Pretty clean for three lads living in it."

"I know, right?" Dean chuckled, lugging the backpack over his shoulder with a grunt. "Alright. Whenever you're ready."

"I'm set, mate. Let's hit the road."

" _Jack…and don't you come back no more, no more, no more, no more_ …" Dean locked the door behind him and Cesaro.

"Is that on our playlist for today?" Cesaro asked at a normal volume.

"I can add it." The early morning air was nippy, pinching all inches of exposed skin. The brothers hurried towards Cesaro's car, a Ford Fusion. "I remember you having excellent taste in music, so I hope you like my selection."

"We'll see."

Cesaro had _packed_ for this occasion: a first-aid kit, a twelve-pack of water bottles, a Walmart bag loaded with snacks, extra washer fluid, transmission oil, brake fluid, spare belts, toilet tissue.

"Are we going to California or crossing the Atlantic?" Dean asked, dropping off his luggage in the backseat with the rest.

"Sorry, man. Can't _quite_ afford a trip to Portugal this time."

"Rats. Maybe next time."

Dean settled in the passenger seat of the comfortable car. Cesaro cranked the engine on, then the heat, then took Dean's phone and plugged in the auxiliary cable. Dean shuffled his "Road Trip" playlist and grinned at the very song that filled the car.

Cesaro laughed. "You would!"

"Oh, I would." Dean closed his eyes and sang Whitesnake's "Here I Go Again" with his brother:

" _I don't know where I'm going_

 _But, I sure know where I've been_

 _Hanging on the promises_

 _In songs of yesterday_

 _An' I've made up my mind,_

 _I ain't wasting no more time_

 _But, here I go again_

 _Here I go again_ …"

He didn't make it much longer than that. When Dean awoke the late winter sun was kindling the foggy skies in pale coral and peach hues. His mouth ripped into a yawn, and Cesaro wished him a good morning.

"How much longer?" Dean grunted.

"We're in Georgetown."

"How much longer?" Dean asked again. He had never been to Georgetown.

"About fourteen hours to go, little brother."

"Damn." Dean yawned again. His neck was aching. Must have been bent funny. He sat up in his seat. The music had been turned down, but Dean recognized the song at a low volume: "Truckin'" by the Grateful Dead.

"You hungry? Thirsty?"

"Just sleepy," Dean said. "I could eat, though. Don't let me stop you."

"There's a McDonalds on the next exit. I was thinking about an Egg McMuffin."

"You're not above shitty fast food?"

"Nope! Not with daughters. Can't be cooking for them _every_ night. McDonalds is a blessing and a curse."

"Mostly a curse. But now I'm craving a McGriddle."

"So you're not above it, either." Cesaro flashed him a smile. Damn, his brother was attractive. How the hell were they related? Dean sure as hell didn't know.

"No, sir. I'll buy."

"You don't have to."

"It's my treat. Not like we're breaking the bank on filet mignon or nothing."

Cesaro made a face. "Can you imagine if McDonalds sold steaks?"

"Please don't make me puke _before_ I shove that McGriddle down my throat."

The Fusion steered off the highway and Cesaro tucked it within the long line at the drive-thru.

"I can drive next," Dean offered. "Let you eat your breakfast, get some rest."

"Dean, when was the last time you drove a car?" Cesaro called him out. Damn. He was smart.

"Legally, or…?"

"I thought so." Cesaro gave the voice over the speaker their order, and included two large orange juices. "Don't worry about it. I can handle the drive. I've been in worse places waiting for longer periods of time."

"You sure?" Dean felt bad. He wanted to allow Cesaro _some_ reprieve, considering this entire trip was Dean's fault—idea.

"'Course I'm sure. Would I say anything if I wasn't?"

"Yes. Not that you'd lie, but you'd pretend you were okay with something when you really weren't, just so nobody else is put out of their way or gets annoyed."

"Is that something I'd do?" Cesaro paid at the window with Dean's twenty, then handed him the change.

"Sure, it is. Just like it'd be my thing to arrange an impromptu trip to California. I'm wild like that."

The cashier handed Cesaro their drinks and the bag of food, and Dean held everything while Cesaro maneuvered out of the line. "You're not wild, Dean. Just…"

"Unpredictable? Loony?"

"Why are you so hard on yourself? Everything you say, you're either insulting yourself or your actions or what you believe in…"

Dean squinted as Cesaro steered the car directly at the oncoming sunshine. "Just a humble guy, I guess."

"You should give yourself more credit, Dean. There's a lot of different paths your life could have steered down. Yet look at you. Nice home, wonderful friends, good fiancée…"

"Boyfriend," Dean corrected, wishing he hadn't had to.

"Boyfriend. Sorry. But you see my point. A job, money, you're _alive_. Would you have thought you'd be where you are now, ten years ago?"

Dean had repressed a huge chunk of memories from his childhood, let alone ten years ago. The Secret was born, never to tell Roman or Seth and especially not his new brother Sami.

"No," Dean admitted. He munched on his McGriddle. "No, and I know what you're thinking. I'm glad I didn't succeed at what I did. I love my life now, I'm happy, blah, blah, blah. You saved me, bro, and I at least owe it to you to keep on trekking."

Cesaro had lowered his sunglasses over his eyes but Dean caught a single salty pellet slither down his cheek, before he wiped it away and cleared his throat. Oh, great. He was probably reflecting on The Secret, too.

"Cesar—"

"Listen to me when I say this. I am so unbelievably glad you're here with us. No matter what happened in our lives, with Mom and Dad, you _were_ my reason to keep fighting back then. I always wanted to look out for you, keep you safe, keep you healthy as I could."

Dean sipped his orange juice. Not sweet enough for him. He didn't complain.

"If you'd…if I hadn't…" Another tear. Cesaro swatted at it like a fly. "I'm just saying. Please don't ever go back to that mindset."

"I won't," Dean vowed. "Not now, especially. I got my love life all figured out, _finally_. I'm back in contact with my brother." _I didn't get iced by those damn Wyatts, nor by their fucked-up sister yet_ … "I'm good. I'm set. Don't worry about me."

"It's part of my job. Especially as a dad now. Hard not to."

Dean watched the lines on the road, the signs, other cars, zip by in a blur. The mountains warped in size in the distance as the car propelled further and further west. It'd be unusual not to see them when he woke up tomorrow morning.

"I love you, Dean." Cesaro's hand patted his knee, lingering there for a moment. "I always have. And I'm so glad we're doing this."

"I love you too." Dean rested back in his chair, finishing off his orange juice. Should have peed before they hit the highway again but that was fine. He'd be fine.

All of this, what was to come and what was to follow. He'd be fine.

Dean was asleep again a little while later. When he stirred the car was stopped and parked, and Dean peeked out to see Cesaro talking on the phone while pumping gasoline into the car. They were at a 7/11. Dean decided to hop out, stretch a little. Offer to drive again, even if and when Cesaro would decline.

"No, Thursday," Cesaro said, speaking in a stern tone Dean wasn't use to. He wandered away, yawning and stretching further off to give Cesaro some privacy. He was certain one shouldn't use a cell phone while pumping gas. Just something he'd heard one time. But Cesaro didn't make the entire station blow up, and he shoved the nozzle back in place and closed up the gas tank without incident. Still talking rather loudly on the phone. Dean watched him climb back into the car, then had no choice but to crawl back inside himself.

"Yes. You've got it. Absolutely. I promise. Just…I'm fit for this. You've no right to question me."

Dean considered reaching for his headphones before Cesaro sighed in closure and mumbled, "I've got to go, Sara. We're on our way again. Alright. Tell the girls I love them. Uh-huh. You too. Bye."

Cesaro dropped his phone in the cup holder and sharply turned the car back on.

"Uh, just remember not to floor it until we get to the highway," Dean said.

Cesaro shook his head. "Sorry you had to listen to that. It's my ex-wife. She thinks it's not fair to the girls if I drop them off during _my_ scheduled days. Says it'll mess with their heads or something. Sounds to me like she just doesn't want them in the house."

"Think her boy toy is there?" Dean grumbled.

"Probably. I never liked him. Anyway, we work off a 2-2-3 schedule, meaning I get them for two days, she gets them for two, then I get them for three more. God forbid I switch up one week so I can take care of some family avocations."

Dean's chest drew tight. _Wow, you're just ruining all sorts of families, aren't you, Ambrose_?

"It's not you," Cesaro stated, the mind-reader. "It's good what we're doing. She's just being a…"

"Real bitch-in-a-box?"

Cesaro chuckled. "Sure. That."

"You deserve better than that. So do Alicia and Julia."

"They sure do. What's next on the playlist?"

Dean lifted the phone between his fingers. At last he knew how to fully operate the damn Microsoft device. "'I'm Gonna Be.' The Proclaimers."

"Hell yeah." His mood was perking up again. Dean wanted to keep it going. He expelled Sara's name from the car.

"I can't believe how much I missed the girls, dude. And how tall they're getting! Julia's probably going to outgrow Alicia pretty soon, huh?"

"Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if she outgrows me someday."

"Wouldn't surprise me. Shorty."

Cesaro swatted Dean's arm. "They missed you, too."

"Better enjoy their little company while I can before..." Cesaro returned to work and Bitch-in-a-Box took them under her care fulltime again. Dean didn't want to think on it. He had today to get through first, and that would be a challenge enough.

The next couple of hours crept by minute by minute. Dean nodded off and on again, munched on a pop-tart from Cesaro's snack bag, revived conversation every so often with Roman and the girls as topics. The silence wasn't uncomfortable; Dean just figured they'd have plenty more to discuss after years of no contact. He was sure Cesaro was just stressed.

Dean's phone buzzed around the time his stomach started grumbling for lunch. A text from Seth. _**[Good luck. Keep us updated. U will b glad u did]**_

 _ **[thanks seth. think so, hope so, know so. btw nobody texts like that anymore]**_

 _ **[Stfu]**_

"Is that Roman you're texting?" Cesaro inquired, a teasing smile surfacing.

"Seth, actually," Dean corrected.

"Oh. Sorry. I figured the way you were smiling, it was Roman."

 _Was I smiling_? Seth was good at doing that to him, but not the way Roman did.

"I don't think you've told me about Seth yet," Cesaro claimed.

"Really? That's weird, because he's like my..." _Brother_ , he almost said, yet something stopped him. "Best friend. He took me in when I got to the city. Helped me get on my feet." _After the whole Wyatts thing._ Dean wondered when, if ever, he'd bring up _that_ dollop of his past with Cesaro.

"Good for you guys. Finally found someone who can put up with your folly."

"Hush," Dean chuckled. He didn't know the half of it.

Dean's mind was humming again, too alert to try and sleep despite his physical burnout. He and Cesaro belted through a series of tunes from the playlist—Bon Jovi's "Wanted Dead or Alive", U2's "Where the Streets Have No Name", even Electric Light Orchestra's "Mr. Blue Sky." For the first time in several hours Dean was able to relax, compose his thoughts before acting on them. He truly felt twelve years old again, what a normal road trip _would_ have felt like given different and better circumstances of his childhood. Music. Junk food. Miles and miles to go.

A brother who gave a shit about him. That'd been proven today.

Family. Dean had family.

* * *

 _ **Dean Ambrose needs time to prepare for the inevitable crisis ahead. Next time we'll see what Seth is up to the same night Roman meets with Seth's father to discuss work. Just what are our crazy boys going to get themselves into later? I guess we'll see, eh? ;) Thank you so much for reading! Don't forget to leave a review!**_


	17. Chapter 17

Seth was bummed.

Not only was Roman going over to his—his _former_ —house to discuss employment options with Hunter tonight. But Dean was going to California literally out of nowhere to face fears he had no business confronting in the first place. Good for him alleging he wanted to make peace with his family, but Seth knew him better than that. He was going there to discover and tell the truth, call out bullshit. If anything, this unexpected meeting was going to worsen his non-existent relationship with his folks, not mend it.

But Seth didn't bother trying to change his mind. Once Dean set his heart on something, try and stop him.

As Roman prepped to leave for his own venture, Seth offered him a final warning. "Don't let him bully you. And I don't mean just threats. I mean, don't let him make you do more than you can handle just because he knows we're broke."

"I won't," Roman promised. Seth was thankful it wouldn't be just the two of them in the apartment tonight. That was no way to fully get over his crush.

With nothing else to do, Seth considered his options for the evening. He could stay home, study for his classes, catch up on _Better Call Saul_ , scrounge through Roman's comic book collection…alone, alone, alone. He didn't want to be by himself.

Brie Bella came to mind. Maybe she'd be up for something. After all, he hadn't seen her in a while now.

Seth texted her from his quiet bedroom. _**[Is it too soon to ask to hang out?]**_

 _Better start texting like a "normal person" before Dean gets on my ass again._

Seth heated up some leftover spaghetti while waiting for an answer. When his phone chimed, his heart battered his ribcage, only to sink low into his gut at the words he read.

 _ **[Yeah sorry. :/ Got plans with my bff Alicia. Maybe next week!]**_

 _Good one, Rollins. Waiting till the last minute to ask a girl out. You got real game._ Seth assumed the night would have been awkward, anyway. Just lusting after her looks and falling for her gentle spirit.

But he _did_ know who he was going to text next after those "plans" fell through.

 _ **[Randyyyyy]**_

The response was prompt and Seth's heart was back to clobbering his insides.

 _ **[Setthhhhhhh]**_

 _ **[Save me. I'm bored and alone…]**_ He deleted the line and changed the wording a little, so not to come off completely pathetic. _**[Save me. Roman and Dean ditched me for the night]**_

 _ **[Those horndogs! U wanna come over to my sister's house? Making lamb]**_

Seth made a face while typing. _Gross_. _**[She wouldn't mind?]**_ He'd forgotten that's where Randy moved after abruptly leaving the apartment following the Wyatt's antics.

 _ **[Naw. I told her ur cool]**_

 _He told his sister about me_? _**[Well u didn't have to lie to her like that]**_

 _ **[LOL. Ur good dude! Come over whenever. Sorry u can't drive my ride tonight.]**_

 _ **[U never know. I could always take it for a spin once u fall asleep]**_

 _ **[Are u spending the night? ;)]**_

 _Nice one, Rollins. Good one_. But he thought of something. _Don't be dishy. Be confident_.

 _ **[Of course I am. And u better make me breakfast in the morning 2.]**_

 _ **[Hope u like getting scrambled. ;) Eggs I mean LMAO]**_

Seth had to drop his phone and bury his face within his hands for a moment, both cheeks burning like fiery roses. Randy was just toying with him, right? The way he always did…of course Seth wasn't seriously contemplating spending the night with him…right?

 _Fuck it. Leave the ball in Randy's court_. Seth would just be open to anything.

 _ **[Can I bring anything to go with dinner?]**_

 _ **[Just ur stank ass. I'll get u the address. See u soon]**_

 _ **[K later]**_

For the first time in…recent memory, if ever in his life…Seth squealed. He released a girly, full-on squeak to rid himself of the pent-up emotions. Emotions which ranged from modesty and timidity, to daring and blushing, to aroused and dejected already.

 _Oh, my God, I can't fucking handle him. He's so sexy and wonderful...just remember what Dean said. You won't know till you know. If he likes me, great. If not—when not—don't be too disappointed. Just expect it and he can't hurt you._

Seth took a quick shower, to avoid being _truly_ _stank_ , and garbed himself in a Misfits t-shirt, black skinny jeans and wristbands from Warped Tour 2014. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't trying to impress Randy. For no real reason. _He doesn't like me._

 _But what if he does?_

 _But he doesn't._

Seth opened Google Maps and followed the directions carefully to Randy's sister's house. In the text he'd mentioned the name Becky, so Seth assumed that was her. And not another girl toy of his, or whatever the term was. Seth kept his cool, kept his feelings inside. The words of his heart spoke through the songs he listened to on the drive. blink-182's "I Miss You", his guilty pleasure. "Falling For You" by Weezer. _What the hell, is this some stupid coincidence or am I just "that" emo kid_ _?_

Fortunately Becky's house wasn't far off the highway so Seth didn't have to console himself for very long. The home was bigger than Seth expected; a three-story structure on the city's eastern perimeter where streets lessened to dirt roads and urban structures switched into acres of farmland and ranch houses. He pulled in front of the correct house and gave his shirt a sniff before scuttling up the driveway. _Looking good. Look good, feel good, right_?

He pressed the doorbell.

Randy let him inside. Stealing his breath on cue.

It was fifty degrees this evening, soggy and brisk, yet this attractive bastard had slipped on basketball shorts that bore much of his bottom half and a sleeveless black shirt that accentuated his natural tan and his roughcast arm muscles.

 _Goddammit_ , Seth thought. _Maybe we don't have to date or anything. We can just fuck and that'll be the end of that_.

But he had more respect for Randy than that. He wasn't that type of guy.

 _Isn't Randy, though_?

"You gonna come in, or...?" Randy teased.

 _Confident. Just act like nothing can get to you_. "I would, but your boxy bod is blocking the way."

Randy snickered. "Come on in, dishy."

 _Oh good, he didn't forget that...guess it's our "inside joke" now_.

Seth left his Vans by the door and followed Randy down a vast corridor which spilled into a decorated kitchen. A blend of supper scents lifted into his nose. Reminded him of his folks' house, with a more homey appeal. When Randy tended to the loaded stovetop, Seth peered around them. It was just the two of them in the kitchen, and Seth couldn't hear anyone else in the home.

"Where's, uh, Becky at?" Seth inquired. He watched as Randy's lips wrought into an unmistakable grin, but he turned his head to tuck it away.

"She's spending the night at her man's house. That cool?"

Seth realized Randy hadn't told him whether or not his sister would actually _be_ here with them tonight. _He planned this! Fucking turkey_!

But no. No nerves. Seth drafted a smirk to his own face. "Cool with me."

"Chic. Help me make dinner?"

Seth clasped his hands behind his back. "Man, I bust my ass at work all day, and you expect me to come home and help you cook?"

Randy's pitch lifted. "Sorry, dear. Grab a beer from the fridge, zone out on the couch and I'll call you when supper's ready."

"That's right." Going with the act, Seth trotted to the refrigerator and tugged the door open. The shelves were stacked: fresh veggies, egg cartons, meats and fruits and condiments. Wow. Becky and Randy didn't mess around here. Wasn't just a college-kids fridge with expired milk and jars of queso.

"Could you be a dear and bring me the carrots and potatoes while you're over there?" Randy asked.

"I have to do everything around here." Seth avoided the beer for now. No sense getting drunk and stupid this early in the night. He lugged a package of carrots and a sack of potatoes over to Randy, and Randy rubbed his shoulder.

"Thank you, honey."

"Yeah, yeah. You owe me." This time it was Seth turning his face to hide the blossom of his cheeks. Maybe he'd go for that beer, after all. Just one. For now.

"How's Roman doing?" Randy asked, dropping his dainty voice for now.

"Good. Busy, though. Working hard to provide for his family."

"Sounds like him. He, uh..." Seth heard Randy pause while he pulled the refrigerator open again. "He healing up okay? No complications after...?"

"None that we've seen. He's a champion."

"Yeah, he is." While sizzling the lamb chops and boosting the flavor with garlic, Randy multitasked and set to work on chopping the carrots right out of the bag. Seth decided to help him, joking aside. "I miss him a lot. I know I keep saying we'll hang out and shit, but life keeps getting in the way."

"You feel our pain," Seth said. "Let me help."

"Changed your mind? I appreciate it, actually. Hard cooking for two with only two hands."

Randy assigned Seth potato duty. He began washing and scrubbing them in the sink. He tried to eliminate all fantasies of cooking dinner with his husband, Randy Orton. They'd only been teasing, playing around before. Seth was not truly his honey.

"But yeah, it's a lame excuse, but it's valid," Randy went on. "Work. School. My sister's probably getting engaged soon, so helping out with that if it ends up happening. The whole bullshit fiasco with Nikki..."

 _Fiasco_? "Mind if I ask about it?" Seth tried, feeling nosy.

"There's not much to it. Just sick of her bullshit."

Seth licked his lips. He'd heard Brie vouch for Nikki, condemn Randy for certain behaviors in their "relationship." But he supposed there were two sides to every story. He wouldn't be so quick to judge, not yet. "Sorry, man."

Randy took that as an invitation to elaborate. Seth concentrated on his potatoes and thus had his back turned to Randy, yet he could sense every facial expression with every word. "Okay, so it's like this. She's kind of in two relationships right now. With two _very_ different guys. Me, and this jock douche bag we used to go to high school with, John."

Seth rinsed the final potato, then reached for the peeler. He preferred skins, but this was Randy's call.

"John is her knight in shining armor. The good guy, with the good job and the nice family and the crystal-clean past. Like, sorry we can't all be fucking perfect, Nikki, but at least I'm trying."

Seth held his breath. He didn't know Nikki well, and hell, he was only just starting to know Randy. All he could do was listen and try to separate fact from exaggeration.

"She likes him for all his good qualities. And I guess she likes me for all the bad. Like, he wants to wait until they're at least engaged—if that ever happens—to have sex. Fine. To each his own. But she gets impatient about it because whenever they have _that_ conversation, she's knocking at my door, ready to go."

Seth peered back at Randy, who was still hunched over the stove. His hands were busy but it was clear his attention was far from this kitchen.

"He doesn't know about me. But I know about him. I know the fights they get into, because surprise, surprise, she's not Florence Nightingale over here, either. She's got her issues, too. And I let her take all that anger and frustration out on me. I let her come to me for attention, for help, for sex. But the minute they make up, it's like I'm not important anymore."

If this was true—and Seth really hoped it wasn't—then one question among many stood out. "Why not just dump her, then?"

"Because I'm a fucking sap. I have a soft spot for the needy and emotional. I like to be that strong tower she can run to, that solid rock, you know? I like feeling like I matter to someone, even if it's only for a little while. Even if it's all bullshit in the first place."

The kitchen went quiet, except for the sizzling and boiling on the stove and the beeping from the oven timer to follow. Randy shut it off, then ran a hand over his face. Seth stared back into the sink, slowly shaving the last of the potatoes, before he was caught staring.

"I'm sorry, Seth. You didn't come over to listen to me bitch and moan about my life. That's really impolite on my part."

"It happens. It's fine."

Seth swallowed hard as he felt Randy's full, warm anatomy materialize behind him. "You just about done? I need to wash these carrots."

"Yeah, I'll get to mashing pretty soon."

Seth expected a quip or a chuckle at that. But Randy patiently waited for Seth to move away from the sink so he could use it. Seth set the bowl of potatoes on the counter, then returned to Randy's side.

"I'm sorry, by the way. That _is_ some bullshit fiasco right there."

Randy shrugged one shoulder, not looking his way. "It's fine. I deal. Like I said. I like being a rock."

"But then who's your rock?"

Randy's fingers froze, and his eyes skipped towards Seth's. Nervous as he felt about direct eye contact with his beautiful human being, Seth retained it.

"Good question. Guess I've never really needed one. It's always been me as the cornerstone. Not anyone else bracing for me."

Seth wasn't used to this fragile side of Randy. Usually he was the loud, drunk dancer who liked to tease. In a way, it was a relief; Randy could, in fact, go sensitive. It was possible.

He'd get both sides of the story, full and unedited, eventually. Tonight Seth just wanted to be with Randy.

"Well, if it comes down to it...I'll be your rock."

Randy smiled and it was different than the others. This one seemed...more real, in a way. Peaceful and pleasant. "Yeah? You sure you wanna take on that burden? I can be a handful."

"I'm sure you're not nearly as bad as Dean. He's a nut, but he's my favorite nut, and I'm more than happy to take on that burden." Dean was no burden to him. Well...that wasn't exactly true, sometimes his _actions_ resulted in oppressing consequences, but Seth wouldn't trade any of it for not knowing Dean.

"Hey, I've been told the same thing. We can be a pair of nuts. And you're the warden running the asylum."

"I'm sure you're not that bad," Seth said, voice stooping to timid.

"You're a good man, Seth Rollins." Randy tapped his arm and Seth wished the touch would last longer. "Now let's eat, before all this mutton goes to waste."

Putting it that way didn't increase Seth's appetite. "Never had lamb before, so this will be exciting."

"It's not bad. I promise."

"I'm gonna trust you here."

"And if you're a good boy and clean your plate, there's coffee cake for dessert."

Seth smiled. "You went all out for me tonight, didn't you?"

"All out for _us_. We fucking deserve it." Randy collected a bottle of Guinness from the fridge for himself. "Cheers, my friend."

"Cheers."

Randy set the table and Seth helped him shift the food from pans to plates. "Looks like a mini Thanksgiving," he complimented. "Lamb doesn't look half-bad, either."

He folded his napkin into his lap while Randy left his on the table. " _Bon appétit_ , my friend."

"Thanks for cooking, honey. This all looks scrumptious."

"Anything for my handsome hubby."

 _He's joking. He's kidding. He's joking_.

Seth helped himself to a small portion of lamb and loaded a few spoonfuls of vegetables onto his plate. It was quiet for only a minute or so, as Seth nibbled on the edge of a chop. Not bad at all! The garlic helped a lot. He took a bigger bite and chewed before swallowing so not to choke to death right here in Randy's dining room.

"This house is beautiful," Seth said. "Ideal. Out in the country, lots of space, big land, not too many neighbors to bother you."

"It's pretty rad. Gets kinda boring, lonely if you're out here too long. But my favorite part might be the stars."

Seth dabbed his chin with the napkin, then returned it to his lap. "I bet they look great out here."

"Oh, yeah. Away from all the light pollution and shit. I like to sneak onto the roof and just stare up at the sky sometimes. Think about life...try to catch a shooting star or two. Just enjoy the peace and quiet." Randy shoveled a mouthful of potatoes past his lips. "But don't tell Roman."

"Why not?"

"It's my secret. It's what I like to do when I'm by myself."

"But you told me."

Randy smiled. There it was once more, the gentle and pleasant grin with no bantering intact. He sure wasn't like this around _anyone_ else. "Shit, guess I did. Oh well, you know too much now and I can't let you leave."

"Dammit. Guess you can't. I'll just have to keep eating your food, drinking your beer. Maybe check out those stars you keep bragging about."

"If you want to."

Seth sipped his beer, taking his time answering. "I'd like that. Yeah. You respect me enough to let me in on your little secret. Might as well take advantage."

"Maybe you owe me a secret, then."

 _Hell no_. "Yeah, right. Nice try."

"Oh, come on. It doesn't have to be a _big_ secret. Something little."

Seth decided to needle him with this. "Do I really owe you? You'd have to sweeten the pot a little to get anything out of me."

"Or I can respect your privacy and back off a little bit."

"What's the fun in that?" Seth grinned.

"What are you getting at, Rollins? You want me to come after you?"

"I dare you. Can I please have some cake now?"

Randy studied his plate and Seth studied him. _Come on. There's gotta be a way to make him blush_. "Impressive. You did manage to empty your plate...I suppose you're allowed."

"Thanks, Honey Bun."

"You're welcome, Pumpkin."

Seth gathered his dishes and meandered back into the kitchen, hoping Randy would follow him. _Keep the game up. It's working. All the serious talk aside, you've intrigued him_.

Sure enough, Randy was right behind him. In front of the sink, where Seth began to rinse off his platters, he felt Randy's hands slide over his sides and hold themselves on his stomach. Seth sucked in a breath, flailing to keep control of himself.

"What's your secret, Seth?" Randy coaxed in his ear.

"Not telling," Seth sang. His struggle to keep his voice from cracking almost failed.

"You're dishy. And very touchy. We found that out last time, remember?"

"You're touchy, too," Seth accused. Weak, he felt himself lean back, secure against Randy's muscular form.

"What's your secret?" His warm breath tickled Seth's neck and he swallowed a giggle.

"You're so pushy."

"You wanted me to come after you. Besides, I like making you squirm."

"Yeah," Seth snorted. He felt himself melting on the inside. _Is this really happening? He's joking...he's kidding...just messing with me_... "All you did last time was make me hold my nose while you shoved your rancid feet into my—"

Seth gasped as Randy's lips kissed him ever so gently just under his ear, moving down towards his collarbone. He shivered, grunting, " _Oh, fuck_."

"I can make it a lot worse for you," Randy taunted.

"I want cake."

"What else do you want?"

There was no way Randy couldn't feel Seth's heart smashing his ribcage. The goosebumps pulling erect on his bare forearms. _I gave him permission. I asked for this. If it's gonna happen, I can't back down_...

Seth twirled around and challenged Randy with a solemn stare into his gorgeous eyes. "You."

That did it. In the dim of evening inside a gorgeous kitchen, Randy slumped into Seth's eyes and his entire face flushed. As if he'd known all along what Seth would say yet it still managed to stun him...

Seth was so confident in himself in this revelation.

"Me, Seth?" Randy asked.

"Tell me you want me, too. I know you do. The way you look at me, the way you touch me, it means something. I know it does." This was risky and Seth was faltering in his assurance just a tad, but this was it for him. This was the moment. Randy was either going to have to kiss him now or break his heart, but at least either way Seth would know...

"Take me," Seth begged. "I'm yours."

Randy, nearly panting at this point yet slowly and delicately, tilted towards him until their foreheads gently bumped. Their hands found each other and they held one another, sucking up all the available oxygen in the room with breaths of wonder and desire and total awe...

"Me," Randy breathed.

"You're my secret," Seth whispered so not to whimper. "Take me, dammit, Randy. Take me."

Randy leaned towards him. Now his breath was hot on Seth's lips and Seth closed his eyes, aching for a taste.

And oh, how _good_ he tasted.

And oh, how Seth was drunk on him after one caress.

Randy was cocky kisser the way he acted everywhere else. While kissing Seth he lifted the six-foot-one blonde/brunette hybrid onto the counter. Seth's legs wrapped around his midsection and his erection bumped Randy's belly. Randy had full control, not allowing Seth much room to breathe or even moan aloud the words on his mind: _fuck, he's amazing...oh this feels so fucking good..._

Without opening his eyes Seth could sense Randy peeling out of his shirt, and he was cooperative as Randy yanked his off as well. Seth fought back, so unfamiliar with Randy's kiss but so eager to please the man he was with. He felt Randy's hands crawl behind him, fingers teasingly poking down the back of his jeans. Seth drowned himself in Randy, kissing and nibbling his bottom lip, legs securely fastened behind him, sweating like mad already.

Randy pried from their kiss to provoke him. "You're all mine."

Seth let a moan escape his lips. Randy sealed the rest of them shut behind his own again, tangling their tongues together as he dipped his hand lower and lower down Seth's pants, towards his ass.

Seth wanted to return the favor, the pleasure. He pecked kisses up and down Randy's sweaty neck; let his own hands tingle over Randy's abs, creeping towards the edge...his waistline...

"Fuck, Rollins," Randy grunted, having to break their kiss again. "How the fuck are you doing this to me?"

Seth didn't know what to say. He was certain he didn't have as much sexual experience as Randy did. "Touch me, Randy...please...I need you..."

"I need you," Randy echoed. While his finger hovered deep within Seth's jeans, not quite making it to his cock because of the binding material and their position, Randy lifted Seth off the counter and dipped him cautiously onto the kitchen floor. With his left hand he unclasped Seth's pants and tugged them down a bit; with the other, continued to tantalize his sensitive nether regions with strokes and brushes.

"I want to touch you...too..." Seth groaned.

"With fucking pleasure." Randy stripped of his shorts with three swift motions, and Seth was frozen with lust at the sight of a fully-bare, fully-erect muscled, tattooed, arrogant, sensitive, _gorgeous beyond imagine_ Randy Orton.

Randy joined him on the floor again. No sense interrupting themselves to move to a more comfortable location, a bed or a couch. This was happening here and now. Randy licked his hand, lapping his palm and fingers with makeshift lube before taking Seth's throbbing member in a hold and grinding him up and down.

Seth was almost flopping. He'd never been touched by another man like this before. He could feel his orgasm building already, shamefully quick...yet not before Randy took Seth's other hand in his and guided it towards Randy's own enormous cock. He steered Seth's fingers around his dick and motioned for him to rub him up and down as well...before letting Seth's hand go and allowing him to do it himself.

Seth wanted more. He wanted this to last, he wanted kissing and teasing and exploring and for sex to _not last less than a minute which is what he felt coming up fast_...instead he was writhing on ecstasy, high on his elation and unable to hold back any longer.

" _Randy...oh, fuck, Randy, oh, shit, oh...oh, yes, oh_..."

"That's it," the pompous voice spoke to him. "Just like that...fuck me, Seth, fuck me..."

Seth shuddered as the electricity of coming struck him. His entire body trembled as the wild sensations elated him head to toe...numbing his toes, just about stopping his heart...his orgasm had unfortunately made him release Randy, yet he opened his eyes and gasped in a sweat as Randy finished himself off, bending over, grunting and rasping as his semen dribbled away from Seth, collecting on the floor.

He remembered how to breathe again. His body felt glued to the floor by sweat and his seed blended with Randy's. His mind was overloaded and frying with the unthinkable...couldn't even comprehend what had just happened, how everything had led up to it, and especially the aftermath, what would become of him and Randy now...

But what he did know. It'd been over much too soon.

And he wanted more of it. All over again.

Randy drew up beside him and giggled as he moved Seth's sticky hair from his burning face before kissing his mane. "You feel good, Rollins?"

"I do," Seth soughed. He shook his head, touching the back of his hand to his forehead. He felt feverish, and deliciously satisfied. "Holy shit, Randy..."

Randy kissed his cheek, then stuck his arm under his back and helped lift him to a sitting position. "Thank you."

He was nearly ready to pass out right there on the dirty floor. "No...thank _you_ ," Seth breathed.

"For more than that, Seth." Randy was weary, out of breath and still recovering it. "For everything. Thank you for listening. Letting me touch you...for... _everything_ , darling. You are fucking incredible."

 _He called me darling. Is this fucking real life right now_? "Yeah. Look who's talking."

Randy chuckled. He put an arm around Seth's shoulder and kissed his hair once more. "Now, how about that cake?"

* * *

 _ **Whaaaaaaaaat have those boys done?! I guess we'll find out sooner or later, eh? ;) Thanks for reading! Be sure to leave a review and I'll see y'all in the next chapter!**_


	18. Chapter 18

_**I apologize if this chapter is too short for your liking. There wasn't too much I was willing to give away yet...but still so many important factors to the story I just couldn't leave out! ;) Enjoy Roman's perspective again...**_

* * *

" _Oh I love you oh so very much, love you more than words can say_

 _And I don't know how or why but I love you more every day_ …"

Roman couldn't stop listening to the song Dean had serenaded him with at Java Central. He'd played it off his phone while finishing off his comparison/contrast essay for EBD class, while showering and while pampering himself before his "interview" at Hunter's house. Yes, pampering, because joking aside Roman badly needed this position and he was willing to look a little dashing to succeed in the eyes of his new superior. Blue button-up shirt, black slacks, paired with a belt and his work shoes after he'd scrubbed them clean of coffee stains and milk mishaps. _Thanks a lot, Tyler Breeze_.

"Don't let him make you do more than you can handle just because he knows we're broke," Seth had told him before he left, which only strummed some guilty strings of Roman's heart.

"I won't," he pledged. And did he meant it.

Now in his car he was listening to "Who I Am" yet again. Though here he couldn't exactly close his eyes and pretend it was Dean singing to him instead. No, by now Dean and Cesaro were probably in California, if not very close to their final destination. He said a little prayer for Dean, charged up some positive vibes and best wishes for the love of his life.

He remembered how to get to Seth's—darn it, _Mr. Rollins_ 's—house by now. The lovely miniature-mansion in an uptown neighborhood. The driveway was loaded with vehicles, so Roman parked along the street. He smoothed out his shirt as he stepped out of the car and swaggered up the drive. _Confidence. Damn anxiety, denounce it. Confidence. Confidence._

He could practically hear Dean compliment him in his attire. " _You look hot, Ro. Like an arrogant rich bitch, but still hot_."

 _I sure miss you, Dean_.

Roman thumbed the doorbell.

To his surprise it was Seth's brother Kane who promptly answered the chime. "Roman! Hey, buddy!" the taller boy exclaimed, taking Roman in a brief hug that was sure to ruin his shirt and tweak his back muscles. "Good to see you."

"Yeah, you too, Kane," Roman grunted.

"Come on in. Dad's just interviewing a couple who want him to publish their book. You can wait in the living room. Want some water?"

Roman almost turned him down, but suddenly he was parched. Nervous. "That'd be great, actually. Thank you."

He made himself comfortable on the sofa while Kane disappeared into the kitchen. Voices echoed through this house on all floors; Roman had discovered the gossip reliability of the ventilation system at Christmastime. Even from here he could pick up on Hunter's strong voice, his persuasive talk, that hearty laugh. The murmurs of whomever he was speaking with, too.

Kane handed Roman a tall glass of water. "Here you go."

"Thanks." Roman sipped it.

 _Water's gross_ , Dean would say to him here. _Too bland. Too blah. Needs more sugar_.

Roman must have been losing it if he was hosting imaginary conversations in his head with his boyfriend. _Never thought I could miss someone so much after a day_.

A door squeaked upstairs, and Roman lifted to his feet at the sound of footsteps trampling down the winding staircase. Hunter led the way in front of the couple, a man and a woman, a woman Roman loathed with every ounce of his being and a man he'd wished death on several times in the past.

 _Of. Fucking. Course_.

His ex-girlfriend, AJ Lee, and her…lover, boyfriend, fiancee, whoever the fuck. Phil Brooks, professional punk-ass bitch. They marched to the bottom of the steps and each took in Roman with their own sense of dismay.

Roman stared.

AJ stared.

Phil glared. Like he had the right.

And Hunter was terribly confused. "Uh…hey, Roman, welcome back. Do you, uh…know my clients?"

"Nope," Roman spat. _Never have, apparently, never will_.

Phil rolled his eyes. AJ took his hand in hers.

Hunter only blinked, sidestepping the emotional commotion. "Alright, guys, I'll walk you out. Call me tomorrow and I'll get in touch with your editor, alright?"

"Sounds good, Mr. Rollins. Thank you _so_ much," AJ praised him on their way to the door. Roman stayed where he was, sipping his water once more before nearly slamming it onto the coffee table. Confidence was lost. Seeing her again…and the fact they were still together…how Dean had actually ran into them very recently…

He was shaking. _Deep breaths_ , he told himself, going through his exercises for anxiety attacks. _They're gone and chances are you won't ever see them again_.

But that's what he'd told himself last time.

All he could see when he regarded AJ's face was the back of his ex-best friend's head. Kissing, moaning, thrusting, all in his apartment, too.

 _Fuckers_.

Hunter returned to him, lifting two hands as if to defend himself from _Roman_. "You okay, man? You good?"

"Yeah, sorry," Roman grumbled. His heart was reducing to a normal rate of speed. "I used to date her."

"Oh. My apologies, I should have asked you to come later."

"It's no problem. Not your fault."

Hunter smiled, regathering an aura of professionalism between them. "Well, then. Shall I show you the office?"

Roman followed Hunter up the stairs and wandered down a corridor which split into several wings like a hedge maze on the second floor. _Wings_! In a house for a family of four! Who needed this much space?

Suddenly timid once more, Roman trailed Hunter towards a set of glass doors. Hunter had a nice office space set up here; an iMac situated on a long pine desk accessorized with organized writing utensils and notepads, family portraits lined on all four walls, with Seth included in many of them; _another_ desk with _another_ Apple computer directly across from the _first_ desk…a window with plain white blinds was the only "simple" factor of this entire space.

"Pretty cool, right?" Hunter asked.

"Yeah, you're very blessed to have your job and this house," Roman said. The answer would please him but he senses Seth might imitate barfing sounds if he ever heard Roman speak those words.

"True that, son."

 _Please don't call me—_

"This will be your computer," Hunter said, waving a hand over the second desk, smaller yet still sizable compared to…well, Roman's desk, or any average one he'd seen in a home. "Don't worry," he said, suddenly teasing, I didn't buy it just for you."

 _Phew_.

"It's usually Stephanie's, but she's got her laptop so this can be yours. You can change the wallpaper, pick a password, anything you like."

 _Sounds magical_.

"I've given you remote access to my computer, so you can check my emails and access all my documents. I'll also have a daily task list for you to utilize. But I hate to say, this computer isn't game-compatible, so there will be no goofing around when I'm not here." He laughed and it sounded so fake, because his joke was lame, but Roman knew it in his heart he wouldn't goof around. Not here, or anywhere, really. He'd bust his ass and give every task his _everything_ to provide for his family.

If Hunter didn't want to accept Seth, Roman would.

The pictures on the wall proved otherwise, though…

"When do you have school, Roman? What's your average work schedule?"

"I have classes Mondays and Wednesdays. Work, usually the mornings I don't have school, and Saturdays."

"I don't want to take up anymore of your time. It's valuable, and you're a hard worker."

 _Are you the one kissing_ my _ass now, Hunter_?

"We'll start you off on Sunday afternoons. Two to four. Maybe throw some Tuesdays in there, too, once you get comfortable. Sound like something you can manage?"

 _I can just pretend this is my office for a while. Pretend I'm rich…that I'm living in this house and Seth and Dean are here with me…and Dean and I are finally_ …

"I'd like that very much. You don't know how much I appreciate this, Hunter."

Hunter lifted his lips in a way that understood Roman…almost empathized. Like to say, _Sure, I do_. "I appreciate you doing this for me, Roman. And I also respect the fact you considered my son's feelings before even thinking about the job. That proves what a good friend you are."

"He's a good friend to me. Best I ever had."

Hunter kept smiling and it was starting to bug Roman. "Can I ask a favor of you?"

"Sure…?"

Hunter crossed the room and opened a drawer on the bigger desk. When he plucked a fat envelope between his fingers, Roman held his breath. _Oh, no_.

"This isn't a handout," Hunter promised, returning to Roman's side. "I remember what you said. You're no charity. However, I know how badly you need this." Hunter lifted the envelope, so obviously plump with dollar bills, directly into Roman's line of sight. "Consider this an advance on your paycheck."

"I haven't even started working for you yet," Roman told him over the voices in his head begging him to throw morality to hell and just take the damn bonus.

"I know. This will be your pay for your next two weeks' of work. Then you can go to a normal pay schedule."

The serpent toyed with the apple just within Eve's grasp. "I trust you, Roman. You're a good guy. You study hard, work hard, even play hard."

Roman's heart pounded. He wished he'd brought his water upstairs. _Just take it. What's wrong with you? Even Seth would tell you to take it, for our sake…do it for Seth so he doesn't have to pull another double tomorrow_ …

"I trust you," Hunter said again. Roman heard words beyond his sentence, to truly finish it: "I trust you to take this from me, because you're needy."

 _Do it for Seth_.

Ironic, really.

Roman took the envelope. He felt disgusting, like he'd just accepted a bribe for something. Like Hunter had just…manipulated him. Without even being passive-aggressive about it.

"Wonderful!" Hunter said. "It was Stephanie's idea. When I told her Seth was going back to school, she was floored. She even checked both her legs to find out which one was being pulled." He laughed again, hard. "Of course, that doesn't have to go towards Seth's school. It can be for rent, groceries, whatever you like."

Roman had an idea what he'd like to use the money for. An important piece of jewelry that he could someday afford, when the timing was right and home life settled down. But if he told Hunter about his motion, he could have damn well taken the money right back.

"Thank you, sir," Roman said alone, defeated.

"Since you're here, you can go ahead and play on that computer for a bit. Start customizing it. You'll find all the shortcuts you'll need in the folder labeled 'Roman.'" Hunter tapped Roman's back, nearly making him stumble behind the force. Roman was still gripping the money envelope. "I'm gonna go check on Stephanie. She's making roast beef tonight. You're welcome to stay for dinner."

And Hunter left him alone.

Entering full-on zombie mode, as if exhausted by his "deceptive" actions already, Roman dropped into the seat and wiggled the mouse, bringing the computer screen to life. He reminded himself again and again this was good, this is good… _a good thing, necessary, even_ …he found the folder titled "Roman" on the desktop and clicked it… _we need this, because we're going to make it, damn it all if we're not gonna make it because of stupid fucking money_ …

There was a folder within the folder.

This one was labeled "Ambrose."

 _What_?

Roman hurried to click on the file.

It was locked. Guarded by a passcode.

 _Dammit. What's in there? What does he have on Dean? I should have known he doesn't fully trust us_ …

"Roman!" Stephanie's motherly voiced boomed from the first floor. "Are you staying for dinner?"

For whatever reason he feared getting caught snooping, on his own computer. Roman clicked out of the folders, returning to the basic desktop screen. This was nothing he could figure out yet. He stuffed the envelope into his pants pocket, not bothering to count just how much money was tucked within the flap yet…he crept down the stairs to politely decline Stephanie's offer, to shake Hunter's hand and to get out of this house already.

Something wasn't right about this already.

 _What's in that folder_?

Roman had to find out. Consider it one of his new assigned duties.

* * *

 _ **Again, apologies if it seemed too short! Things are getting wild though...I'm very much looking forward to writing the next chapter, where we finally get to learn what happens in California with Cesaro and Dean! Thank y'all so much for sticking on this journey with me, and as always, I love reviews! :D**_


	19. Chapter 19

The memories started picking on him as soon as Cesaro steered his car within the city limits. _Home shit home_ , he thought, recognizing strip malls that were fully closed down and the library he used to skip off to just to escape the chaos of his house, even though he was a terrible reader and never bothered to get better at it. Neighborhoods that'd been refurbished and repainted, others that citizens had clearly given up on and abandoned, streets ridden with crumpled houses and brown lawns and no signs of life anywhere.

Home shit home, indeed.

Tainted nostalgia struck Dean so deeply that a headache popped up over his eyes. He nibbled on some peanut butter crackers and swished down a few pain killers with water. He had to pee again, only a little, any excuse to stop the car and halt them from getting to their destination.

 _But you wanted this, right_?

"Do you want to stop for dinner first?" Cesaro suggested, veering past the tarnished playground where Dean started begging for money for the very first time. Age thirteen, if he remembered correctly.

Dean could have said yes. Should have. Anything to delay this as long as he could. But he had another idea. Putting dinner off would give them a reason to bail if things went south. And this was the fucking "Ambrose" house. Of course things were bound to go wrong. Fated, if Dean believed in that.

"Nah," Dean replied at last, slowly sipping his water again. He'd hold it. "Let's just get this over with."

Cesaro smiled at him in the mirror, and put his hand on Dean's jean-clad leg. "I'm proud of you, little brother."

"I haven't done anything."

"Yet. This is a huge step you've made, a brave commitment. Commitments aren't your thing."

That was true. Weird how Cesaro remembered that tidbit of his personality. Maybe memories were riding through his brain, too. Good ones, bad ones, all of them.

Dean's heart started to pummel his ribcage when Cesaro pulled into Lynnwood Neighborhood. Oh shit, he realized, swallowing hard. What was he doing? What the hell was he thinking, traveling all this way just to have his heart ripped open and his awful childhood pour out around him? What was the purpose of this? Dean trembled, finishing off his water before chucking the empty plastic bottle into the backseat. Sweating, he was perspiring something fierce, as Cesaro took his time driving down this road. He'd take a left, then another left, and the House of Horrors would be the second on their right.

Oh, shit. Oh, shit, bad call. Mistake. Bad mistake. Dean had to leave.

"What's wrong, dude? You look like a ghost," Cesaro mentioned.

"I can't do this, I can't—" But Dean choked on the words and his eyes bulged wide as he took sight of 7465 Briar Road for the first time in…a long one. Many, many years. No. No way. He couldn't do this. "Cesaro, turn around."

Dean didn't understand how ridiculous he sounded.

"What? No, Dean, listen to me. You can do this. You're here for a reason, right?"

The car was closing around Dean. He felt suffocated. The house had peeling paint, a narrow patio, long grass in the rectangular yard. A car he didn't recognize on the driveway. The sight was too overbearing. "I can't. No way. Why did I think I—"

He heard Cesaro fumble to unbuckle his seatbelt. Suddenly his big brother's hands were on his arms. "Dean. We didn't drive all this way to give up. Not yet."

Dean scraped a hand over his face. His vision was hazy. What the hell was happening to him? "I can't."

"Yes, you can," Cesaro insisted.

"I can't—"

The screen door of the home shoved open.

A little boy trotted onto the patio, clutching a teddy bear.

Dean stared him down. His heart snapped in half.

The boy's reddish-brown hair was a tangled mess, and his left thumb was lodged in his mouth. He looked from side to side, then shifted down the concrete stairs one bony leg at a time.

"Is that him?" Dean gasped.

"Yeah. That's Sami. Our brother."

Dean had no idea what to say. He was a skinny thing, maybe skinnier than Dean was as a child. "Why's he got red hair?"

"It'll darken as he gets older. Guess it runs in the family."

"Shit." Dean licked his suddenly chapped lips. His head was throbbing. "She…she just lets him walk around outside by himself? What the fuck?"

The universe had a sense of humor. As if to counter Dean's statement, the door swung open again and a healthy-looking woman with soft blond hair and tired eyes materialized behind the child. The boy looked up at her, and she giggled at something and encouraged him to keep walking, make it to the yard. Shyly he did so, trotting in worn-down sneakers and making it to the long-stemmed grass. The woman lowered herself onto the porch step and watched him play with his teddy bear.

Tears filled Dean's eyes and he pushed his fist to his forehead, cursing his headache. _Pain, pain, go away…fuck off and have a nice day…_

"You want the good news?"

"Sure," Dean grunted, eyes crushed closed.

"He's not here."

Dean assumed who "he" was. Dad. Father. John Bradshaw Layfield. The man Dean was named after for some unknown reason.

"You good?"

Dean opened his eyes, focusing in on the kid. They had to get out of this car before someone called the cops on them, spying. Wouldn't be the first time the police were summoned to investigate this neighborhood. Maybe the first of ten thousand.

"Fine," Dean mumbled. He got out of his own seatbelt—Cesaro _insisted_ he wear it—and pushed out of the car.

The air was unfamiliar here. Warm and wet. Colorado was very dry. The sun was tumbling towards the mountain-less horizon, and Dean squinted ahead in the losing light.

The woman—Angela—Mother—squinted back at the sound of car doors slamming shut. Cesaro joined Dean on the crumbly sidewalk and squeezed his hand.

"Welcome back," Cesaro whispered.

Dean wanted more water. And a bathroom.

Angela could only stare as the two grown men gradually approached her home. Little Sami peered up at the strangers, then gasped in glee as he recognized one of them. "SAWO!" he exclaimed, hobbling forward with a giggle. Why the hobble? Why the lack of meat on his bones? The parents were to blame for this, Dean was sure of it. Cesaro laughed and scooped the kid into his muscular arms.

"Hello, Sami Cal!" he cried. "I missed you!"

Sami stuck his thumb in his mouth again. He buried his head into Cesaro's shirt at the unrecognizable Dean.

"Dean?" the woman asked.

Guess he wasn't _too_ unrecognizable.

He turned around, slowly, to see Angela lifting off the steps and approaching him ever so cautiously, like he was a dinosaur that'd gobble her up if she made any sudden movements. She paused in place, just a yard away from him. Dean had her blue eyes. Her sandy hair. And her utter shock and wonder at this very moment.

Neither spoke. Not for a long while.

A dog barked in the distance. Sami cooed. Cesaro held him tight, not speaking.

Dean cracked the ice wide open. Why the hell not? "Hi, Mom."

Suddenly Angela bit her trembling lip. Her eyes watered up.

Mother and son filled the rest of the space between them, and Dean took her in a firm hug.

"Oh, Dean," she wept into his shoulder. "I…I didn't think it was possible…"

Dean felt Cesaro smiling behind him. But Dean couldn't bring himself to that yet. The hug was enough for now. She still owed him a lot.

"You got tall," she chuckled through a sob.

Dean smirked. "You're just short still."

She drew away from him, dabbing her eyes with her shirt sleeve. "Well, shit. Oh, shoot, sorry. Sami, Mommy didn't swear."

"Yes, you did," Sami chimed.

 _What the fuck? She watches her language around him_?

"Shoot, I meant." Angela smiled, baring yellowish teeth—the ones left, anyway. What an ugly woman, but Dean figured that was due to genes. He didn't find himself attractive, either. "Come on in, Dean, Cesaro. What a surprise. You nearly gave me a heart attack."

"That'd kill the point of the surprise. Glad you didn't."

Dean took a single step towards the porch.

Then a memory ensnared him.

 _A young boy with curly hair and a bloody lip from the most recent beating. Forced to sit on his hands, on the porch, on a chilly day, in underwear and a t-shirt._

 _A large man standing over him, swinging a beer bottle around. "You can come back inside when you learn some fuckin' manners."_

 _"I'm cold."_

 _"Damn shame."_

"Dean?"

Cesaro's voice swept the recollection away. Dean shook his head and he was back in the present…for now. "Yeah, I'm fine," Dean groaned, though Cesaro didn't ask aloud.

He didn't make it past the living room before another thought punched his gut. The carpet was the same—rugged, ugly, wine-red, like John had picked this house on purpose so he could get away with spilling his drinks everywhere and not clean them up. _"Take me out to the ballgame…" the large man would sing before a baseball game on the small television. The curly-haired victim would bring him another beer and get smacked upside the head even though he obeyed the command. "Take me out with the crowd…" A laugh, a wheeze, a harsh cough, and another slap. "Jonathan, you grow up nice and tall and play baseball. Bring home a nice, fat check and take care of your old man."_

Dean had hated baseball ever since.

"House hasn't changed at all," he said aloud. Same TV, same damn carpet, toys strewn about from the living area down the hallway to the kitchen— _she gives him toys? What the hell, did they win the lottery_?

"Are you boys staying for dinner?" Angela asked.

"We don't want to intrude," Cesaro tried. He put a squirmy Sami down, and the boy darted down the hall to claim another toy. Toys!

"Oh, heck no. My sons' company is never intrusion."

 _Unless your son is the son of a bastard. Then to hell with him, right? Don't care if he runs away again, let's not bother the cops by calling them, right_?

"We're having chicken and pasta," Angela said.

Cesaro looked to Dean. "What do you say, Dean?"

But Dean wasn't listening. He was watching. Watching his half-brother choose between a choo-choo train and another teddy bear. He selected the train, then ambled down the corridor and stopped in front of Dean, his tiny hand holding the toy up for him.

"Pway?" Sami asked.

Dean's broken heart melted. He felt the pieces fall into his stomach. "Yeah," Dean said, clearing his throat. _Fuck if I'm gonna break down into tears right here and now._ 'We'll stay for dinner."

* * *

The pasta was undercooked and the chicken was pink, so Dean couldn't make himself eat much of it. Cesaro and Angela sat at the dining table, laughing over something that Dean wasn't paying mind to. That was fine. He wasn't here for her. He was perched on his ass in the living room pretending to eat his dinner. _All this time and she still can't cook_. Some children's show he didn't recognize playing on the TV, and Sami introducing him to his collection of stuffed animals. He could only inwardly shake his head. He skips town and suddenly this home is the damn North Pole.

"This Arnold," Sami said, sticking a plush puppy dog into Dean's face.

"Hi, Arnold," Dean greeted him. He gave the fluffy paw a shake. "I'm Dean."

"Bean?" Sami gasped, suddenly realizing this was the man he'd spoken to on the phone some time ago. "Bean! Brover!"

"That's right, little man." Dean sniffed. He couldn't help it. Sami's big green eyes and sunshine presence in spite of his current lifestyle just _got_ to him. "I'm your brother."

"Bean!"

"Dean. Ah, what the hell. Er, sorry." Dean flushed. Who knew cussing in front of a kid was improper "manners"? "Heck. Heck. Dean said heck."

"Bean say heck."

"Right." Dean chuckled. He set his loaded plate aside. His chest was in stitches. His stomach was in knots and it had nothing to do with the pink chicken. He ached badly, not for his past memories now but for the future memories of this child. All this time he thought Sami was in danger…now…the facts were conflicting with his guesses. Dean saw no bruises, no cuts, not even the common scratch of a normal child who was running and tripped over himself. He looked totally healthy, except for how skinny he was. Maybe that was genetic.

How long could it last?

"This Mango." Sami turned his attention to a fluffy orange monkey. He allowed his "brover" to greet this animal as well.

"Hello, Mango." Dean tapped Sami's tiny chest with his callused finger. "Who's this?"

"This me!" Sami squealed.

"What's your name."

"Sami Callahan Good."

"That's right." _Yeah, their last name is legally "Good". The irony_. He hadn't bore that identity in many years. Perhaps not since he was in school and they forced him to address himself as "Good."

"Your middle name's Callihan?" Dean figured that's what Cesaro meant by "Sami Cal" earlier.

Sami nodded, staring at the carpet. He'd gotten over bashfulness rather promptly with Dean. _Like he knows by now we're family_.

"What's _your_ middle name?" Sami buzzed.

 _David._ Dean only recalled that by a flashback. Just down the hall, an area Dean hadn't made himself explore yet, where Daddy Dearest had locked the curly-haired child in the closet and stranded him there until morning. He'd shit his pants without a choice, and cried for food.

" _You make one more noise, Jonathan David Good, and I'll rip all your fucking hair out_!"

Angela hadn't been home. She'd been job hunting, then wound up missing for the night. Probably at a boyfriend's house.

Layfield had been arrested the next morning. Someone had called the cops because of the yelling, and Dean's bruises them told the story.

The memories were so loud that Dean covered his ears. Sami found it amusing and covered his own ears. He was losing it.

"So where's Papa, anyway?" Dean heard Cesaro ask.

"Oh, working. He has days at the library and nights stocking at the market."

"He works in a library?" Dean couldn't resist inquiring, with a mocking tone intact. _Didn't know he could stay quiet enough for that long_.

"They took him back. They really like him over there. He's great with the kids."

 _Never heard that before_.

Dean's own thoughts were torturing him, too, loud and damning. He couldn't take this much longer. He watched Sami distract himself with his train set, then pushed off the ugly carpet and wandered to the dining room table. Different table. Dean wondered what happened to the dining set John had knocked over the night he came home and found out Dean existed via another sperm donorr.

"Got any beer?" Dean asked. It was a test.

Angela frowned. "We don't keep any liquor in the house anymore."

 _Anymore_. "Good. You guys are being good influences on him." Dean nodded his head. "He deserves that."

Angela's lips parted. "We do our best."

"Yeah, took you guys over twenty years to get your shit together."

She sighed. "I knew you were still upset over this."

"This?" Dean asked, gasping. "What is _this_ , exactly? This human being you sat back and watched suffer every day for his entire childhood? I think I have the right to still be _upset_ over _this_ , Angela."

"Johnathan—"

"I'm not Jonathan anymore," Dean warned her through a tight jaw. He refused to yell in front of the kid. "I'm Dean Ambrose. I had it legally changed when I turned eighteen. Not that you bothered checking on me by then."

Things had been going so well, but Dean couldn't resist. He'd waited several years to express his true feelings, and they were pouring out without control.

"Dean—"

"Little brother—" Cesaro attempted, for his sake.

He flung a hand in Sami's direction. "You have a son in there with toys and clothes and TV to watch. All I got was hand-me-down shit that didn't even fit. If I ever left the TV on by mistake, Dad would threaten to put my head through it. One time he almost did, except he was so drunk that he passed out before he could."

"Dean!" Angela screamed, and Dean shut up. He peered back at Sami, to make sure he hadn't heard the noise. He was plopped down in front of the TV, staring wildly at the colorful cartoon characters singing silly songs. "I know your childhood sucked. And there was so much I could do differently! But look at you! You're here. You're back in my life. You've met Sami. Doesn't that mean you're willing to take a chance to—"

Smoke lifted off Dean's head. His head was killing him. "The chance to what?" he demanded, hands pulling into tight fists. " _Forgive you_? Not a chance in hell, Angela. _Apologize_? 'Oh, Mommy and Daddy, I'm so sorry for ruining your lives by coming into this world by no choice of my own. Please accept my apology by beating me senseless.'" He faked a whine, then drilled a dark stare into her huge eyes. "Why did it take you over twenty years to give me a hug that didn't hurt? Why did it take you over _twenty years_ to have a child you didn't absolutely fucking terrorize?"

Her eyes narrowed. Oh, now she was angry? Fine. "You're not perfect, _Dean_. Nobody is. Not you, not Cesaro—"

"Don't you _dare_ bring Cesaro into this!" Dean shouted. Out of control. The lunatic was out to play. "He's a better father than your husband _ever_ was. Grew up in the same house, under the same parents, yet he was treating like a fucking prince while I was the slave in the closet who couldn't do _anything_ right!"

He felt Cesaro's strong hands tug his arms, hold him back. "Dean—"

"You had over twenty years to apologize to me, and you didn't. Not once. You hugged me out there like, 'Oh, Dean, welcome home, welcome back, good to see you.' Like things were normal for us. Guess what, Angela? Thanks to you and that bastard JBL, I don't even know what normal is!"

Angela glowered, even cowering before her son. He had her on height by almost a foot.

"I'm glad I didn't come here for an apology. Maybe it was wrong of me to expect it, but I came in your house, I ate your crappy food, and you just laughed and chatted it up with Cesaro and didn't even _think_ to take responsibilities for your actions."

"I didn't hit you! Not once!" she shouted in defense.

Dean snorted angrily. "You sat back and let him! You watched him hurt me every single day, and you didn't do a damn thing about it! To me, that's just as bad as laying a hand on me! And if anything ever happens to Sami like shit happened to me in this house, you're both dead."

A small cry wailed from the living room.

Dean hated himself all over again. _Way to go, Dean, you scared him to death_. He turned around and squatted down to Sami's eye level. Sami was curled up on the couch, crying into his hands.

"Sami, I'm sorry. Your 'brover' Bean is sorry I yelled." He took a moment to glare back at his "mom." " _That_ is how you apologize."

But she sewed her lips shut, refusing to speak more.

Dean steadily approached Sami, who rolled off the couch and tucked himself behind it. "Hey, Sami, hey, it's okay. I won't yell again, I promise." Dean grabbed Mango off the ground and held it towards the frightened child. "Here. Mango. This Mango. Remember? Remember how we were playing?" He was desperate to get Sami to forgive him. _I turned into my father back there. Don't worry, Sami, I'll never become him, and you'll never become me_.

A key rattled in the door.

"Daddy!" Sami shouted, his mood suddenly swinging around.

 _Oh, shit_.

Dean lifted to his feet, slightly bending his knees, preparing to defend himself—or run.

The door shoved open. John Bradshaw Layfield stomped into his house.

He looked exactly the same.

Looked at his wife, then his oldest son, then peered over and locked cold eyes onto Dean, the bastard of the family.

 _Oh, shit, oh shit_.

A fire burned in Dean's belly. He still hated this man with everything he was.

"Hello, John," he spoke in false confidence, ready for anything.


	20. Chapter 20

_A/N: I'm sorry again for the delayed update. Honestly I had no idea what to do with this story next, but thanks to the encouragement of you beautiful readers and many on Tumblr, I want to carry it on to the end, and write the sequel. I've already got a name picked out for that story, too._ _But before I can get to the third and final portion of my series "To Love a Lunatic", I'm obviously going to have to finish this one. ;) So without further ado, and a promise to update more often than I have been…the next chapter! It's going to get thrilling from here, so stay tuned!_

* * *

 _Did…that…just…happen_ …?

Seth was out of breath, even twenty minutes later. This morning he was at school, taking notes for a terribly boring class, trying to scrape a deliciously impossible dream off his brain. Now that dream had come entirely true, with some tweaks.

He and Randy Orton were naked together, eating cake on his bed.

Sex with him—unexpected, mind-blowing, zealous sex—had worn him out. He had no energy, hardly to move, except to occasionally lift a forkful of coffee cake through his lips, lips that moments ago Randy had been kissing aggressively. A good kind of aggressive.

It was a damn good kiss.

And this was damn good cake.

"How you feeling, Rollins?" Randy asked in a tempting way, like if Seth had given the word Randy would be atop him again.

"There's no way in the world to describe it," Seth sighed. He was drained and filled at the same time, drained of that energy and filled with fresh love and attraction for Randy. If having any more than he bore before was even possible.

 _I'm falling in love with him. Big time_.

"Try anyway," Randy coaxed him. He kissed Seth's untidy hair, which charmed the answer right out of him.

"Good…better than I've felt, probably ever before in my life." Seth sighed and carried on, his heart stretched tight and thin. _Don't break it_. "Tired. Satisfied. Shocked."

"Shocked?" He sounded truly surprised.

"Well, yeah." Seth nibbled on the last of the crumbs, then set his empty plate on the carpet. "I never thought in a million years a guy like you would go for a guy like me."

"What can I say? You're gorgeous as hell." Randy lassoed Seth into his arms and pulled Seth down onto him, dropping kisses down his neck. He was out of control it seemed, and Seth was bathing in the sensations.

"You're gorgeous, Randy, shit. You know how long I've wanted to tell you that?"

"Well, don't tell me too many times here. You might blow my ego up."

Well, after what Randy had told him about Nikki using him for her own selfish fulfilments… "You deserve it."

Randy grinned. It wasn't cocky, not what Seth was used to; perhaps it was a bit timid. Very unlike him. _What do I do to him? Is it exactly what he does to me?_

"You wanna go out somewhere, Seth?"

That confused him. Seth drew the blanket up to his shoulders. He was too comfortable to move. King-sized bed, new lover snuggled up beside him. "What did you have in mind?"

"I was thinking we could hit up Zodiac. I could show you off."

The club? Seth was _so_ not in the mood. His perfect night from here on would consist of him and Randy cuddling like a real couple. Is that was this experience made them? Or was Seth just a fling to him? He had to know now…

"Like what? A date?" Seth challenged, and he braced for the answer—in his experience, it would be negative, rejection.

But Randy blew his mind yet again by cupping his chin in hand and anchoring an honest stare into his eyes. "Yeah. A date. You can either be my arm candy, or I can be yours. We won't go there to meet girls or whatever. I won't even tell the Bellas we're going. It can be just us. What do you say?"

How to refuse? Even though it wasn't cuddling, it still sounded romantic, to be exclusive in public…

"I need something to wear."

"No problem. You can squeeze into something of mine."

"Will your clothes fit me?"

"They should." Randy rolled out of bed, subtracting the warmth, and Seth was helpless to check him out while he wiggled into a discarded pair of jeans. His carpet was littered with clothing and Seth had to tell himself it wasn't because he was involved in fling after fling down here, so often. "Besides, even if they're a little big on you, you'd still look damn fine in them."

That's all it took to convince Seth. "Okay. You got it."

"Only if you're okay with it. Don't let me pressure you into anything."

Seth was still prone to a night in. But he was eager about this new adventure, his first "date", with Randy Orton. _I can't believe this is happening…I'm dreaming, right? This never happens to me_.

"Are you ready yet?" Seth teased. Randy had been in the bathroom for several minutes, accessorizing himself. It took longer for Randy to get ready than anyone Seth knew. Then again, Seth was used to Dean who never pampered himself for any occasion except the occasional formal date with Roman.

Oh, shit, Roman. If he was home, he'd probably be wondering where Seth was. Seth dug his phone out of his pants pocket, the jeans still crumpled up on the floor, and shot him a text.

 _[Hey I'm out for a while tonight. Don't worry about me. I'm in good hands]_

Seth left his phone on the bed and reviewed his appearance in Randy's closet door mirror. A gray muscle shirt under a faux leather jacket, black jeans paired with a brown belt, Chuck Taylors that were half a size too big. He felt like he'd played dress-up in daddy's closet. But he looked different in a good way, like someone Randy would most likely be seen with at Zodiac. Someone outside himself. Someone confident and handsome and…just _different_.

His phone buzzed. Seth collected the device and read a text from Roman.

 _[OMG, you have other friends besides Dean and me? ;) I'm kidding. I trust you. Have a good time, wherever you are, whoever you're with.]_

 _Roman, you wouldn't believe me if I told you_ , Seth said, pressing his lips together. _Can't wait to tell you…wonder how you'll react_.

At last the door creaked open and Randy swaggered from the tiny bathroom like a model. Seth was gushing again already. He always looked good, no matter what, in nothing or dressed down or in the most elaborate wear. Black hoodie featuring a Disturbed album on the chest, tight-ass skinny jeans, another pair of Chuck Taylors. Randy must have had an obsession with them. He had good taste. His hands were decorated, fingers to wrists, in jewelry. Even in Randy's own clothes, Seth still felt underdressed.

"You look stunning, my dear," Randy said. Seth knew at this point he was merely dreaming, and he had to revel in each second of the fantasy before he woke up alone in his own bed.

"As do you, stud."

Randy beamed. He took Seth by the hand and twirled him, a preview of their dancing tonight at the club, most likely. "You wanna drive my baby?"

"Shit yeah I do, man." This was a relationship— _if this was that_ —Seth could get behind. Buddy-buddy one moment, chatting about cars and work and school and whatever else, shifting to erotic touching and physical satisfactions the next.

 _Don't wake up, don't wake up, don't ever wake up Seth Rollins don't you dare_ —

Seth was honored to receive the keys to Randy's sleek blue Mustang. Waltzing on cloud nine, he followed Randy out of the house. Randy locked up the home behind them, then humbled himself by taking the passenger seat in his prized vehicle. Seth's smile was mischievous as the engine purred to life under him. "This will be the hottest ride I'll ever be in. Hands down."

"What about me?" Randy cackled, and instead of blushing fifty shades of red the way Seth normally would to such a comment, he steered that impish smirk Randy's way.

"You wait till we get home from the club, stud. Then we'll talk more about that."

 _Success_! Randy was flushing, awkwardly adjusting himself in the seat as if he had…something to hide. "Damn, Rollins. I had no idea you were so… _sexy_. I mean, looking at you, anyone can tell, but you're just a bad fuckin' boy on the inside, aren't you?"

Seth's valor faltered in the slightest. Randy could still get to him no matter how sturdy he acted. "Sure."

Seth feared taking both hands off the wheel and wrecking the car, so not once did he reach over to take Randy's hand, yet it stayed on Seth's leg for much of the ride, teasing him. Seth had to chomp down on his lip, focus on driving and small talk and not the wonderful man next to him. He didn't dare pinch himself and wake up from this incredible dream.

But how long could a dream last before reality surged back in?

Seth parked the Mustang vigilantly at the end of the lot, away from any other automobile to avoid dings. Randy smoothed out his attire in the brisk outdoor air, and Seth felt led to do the same. Then Randy captured his hand again.

"Tell me if I'm…too much," Randy said, wincing. "I'm really sorry if I'm coming off a little too strong, man. You're just my first…"

 _Guy?_ Seth wondered. "No," he said, squeezing Randy's hand. "I'm honored to be your pick."

Randy laughed. "One and only, baby."

 _But for how long?_

Randy and Seth presented their IDs at the door. The bar was their first stop, each of them downing a SnakeBite like on Valentine's Day. Seth made himself take it easy on the alcohol; he was by no means an alcoholic, and he didn't want any level of intoxication to deter him from the very tangible sensations he was feeling tonight with Randy, totally sober.

And Seth had the time of his life. Totally sober.

They danced, they kissed. They laughed over dumb jokes and the antics of drunken customers surrounding them. But the dream was so good that Seth was starting to worry. He'd been high on the "good" for so long that he worried tensely of the inevitable "bad" to come. It always did. Why was this time any different?

Just because it happened for Roman and Dean, many months ago in this very club, didn't mean he was qualified for the same happy ending.

He needed answers and he needed them now. He wanted to separate the truth from a fitting lie, a dangerous fantasy.

"Randy," he spoke on the dance floor, almost yelling over thumping music.

"What's up?" Randy asked.

"Why me?"

"What do you mean, 'why you'?"

Seth sucked in a breath. "Of anyone you could be with, why me? Am I just a…I don't…I mean…" Seth shook his head, not wanting to deal with his emotions right now. But better to sort things out now before he dug himself deep into a hole and buried himself alive. "What am I to you? We were just friends before, and now…?"

Randy peered around, as if seeking out eavesdroppers. "Wanna go outside?"

"Sure."

Seth felt numb. He did not, did _not_ , want this to happen, but he also didn't want a broken heart yet again. He trailed Randy to the upper deck, a garden of drunk couples making out. Randy was tense as he turned around and peeked down at Seth, wondering what was up.

"Seth," Randy said. He sniffed, running a hand over his nose. Probably just an itch but Seth hoped to God Randy wasn't about to cry. "Look. I ain't a saint, okay? I've fucked up many a time in my life. I've hurt people, I've been hurt, I've made my mistakes. I'm no angel, okay? I'm a broken person like anyone else." He leaned against the wall, crushing his strong arms over his chest. "You seem like a very nice, sweet, put-together guy. I dunno, I look at you and I see something I've never had before. I see someone who…I dunno, might help me to be a better person."

That was the most sincere and most unique compliment Seth had ever heard. He was touched to the soul. He reached for Randy's hand and said, "We're all human, Randy. We've all made mistakes. Especially me. Don't think of me like some perfect dude who's got his life figured out. I'm far from that. We can be broken together. We can put each other back together."

Randy smiled. He curled a strip of Seth's hair around his finger, tucked it behind his ear. "You're something else, Seth Rollins. What are you to me? Pretty goddamn special, to be honest. No Nikki Bella, that's for damn sure. If you wanna try to work on shit, we can."

Seth sucked in a breath. The cold air would have stirred him awake by now if this were all just a dream. Surely. Right?

"You wanna…work on shit, like…date?"

"I'd like to take things slow. See where we end up. If it means dating, it means dating. But you ain't some dame I'm gonna bang and forget the name of the next morning, okay? Tell yourself that. I'm being real."

Seth believed him.

"You wanna go dance some more? Order another shot?"

"Honestly, dude, I just wanna go home. Er, back to your house," Seth clarified quickly. "I just wanna be with you tonight. Play video games, eat more coffee cake, maybe make out some more."

Randy cackled. "I'm all yours, baby."

Baby. Seth could get used to that.

They ended up sharing one more dance together, middle of the tile floor, the world fading into nothing around them. The only two to ever exist in the universe, Randy and Seth, belonging to one another, needing each other as no man had ever needed another before.

Seth made it official within himself. He was terribly and fascinatingly in love.

"Alright, let's hit the road," Randy said. They walked together out of the club, hands and hearts tangled within one another.

 _I deserve this_ , Seth claimed. _I fucking deserve this after all the shit I've been through, with dating and family and everything_ …

Randy froze in the parking lot, mid-step.

All four windows of his Mustang were broken. Glass littered the asphalt, remnants of the window scattered dangerously over the leather seats and black ground.

"What the fuck!?" Randy roared, dashing to his vehicle as if to rescue a princess. He had no evidence of a suspect, not a weapon used to demolish the car nor a note left behind to apologize for the obviously-intentional damage. He flung his arms around, hands curled into tight fists at the ends of them, entire body shaking in rage. "Who the fuck did this!?"

Seth panicked. _Was this Nikki? Did she see us? Was she jealous? Is she mad?_

Before he could consider other options, something struck the back of his head. He was out before his figure collapsed to the ground.

* * *

Seth woke to someone shaking his shoulder. Terribly unwise to do to someone with a head injury.

"Buddy, you okay? You need a cab?"

His head was killing him. He felt hungover though he hadn't drank much that evening. Slowly he regained a sense of awareness, and he heaved himself to a sitting position. Two hands were firm on his shoulder.

"Guy?"

Seth shook his head, eyes gathering onto the stranger. So dizzy, he felt like puking. The stranger turned out to be the club manager. Seth recognized him from inside.

"How much did you drink?" he queried, half kidding, half concerned.

"Shut up for a minute," Seth grunted. He made himself get up, slow and steady, to his feet. His arms stretched out to the side, steadying himself.

 _Okay what the hell, what the hell, what happened_ …

Thoughts dribbled through his head, fragments coming together to shape what was happening. Pain. Hurt. Car. Broken glass. Randy…Randy…

Where the hell was Randy?

Seth was fully awake now, panic consuming him yet again. He looked all around him, but the Mustang was gone. Randy was gone.

Who'd hit him?

What the hell had happened!?

"Need a cab?" the manager pressed.

Seth stared at him with wide eyes. "You got cameras out here? Something happened. Someone knocked me out."

The manager's face went white. "Uh…you mean you were attacked? Let me get the police here…oh shit, not again…"

Seth couldn't calm down. He trembled as he sought his phone out. Nearly dead, battery sucking away by the minute. No texts or missed calls.

"What the hell!?" he screamed aloud, frightening the manager.

Where was Randy!?


End file.
